Copyright © 2008 Lynne Connelly
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Prologue
I sat in my best riding habit in the dirt at the side of the road, a man I hardly knew sprawled next to me, his head in my lap. I looked ruefully at my skirts as blood seeped into the material. I’d bought it especially for this visit, and now it was ruined. Mr. Kerre and the coachman kicked and pulled at the overturned roof of the stricken vehicle. The canvas covering was peeling away with age; its thin top splintered when the men aimed hard kicks at it. Mr. Kerre had pulled out his brother, the man whose head now lay in my lap. They had more difficulty reaching the other occupants.
Our horses were safe enough, their reins thrown over the branches of a nearby tree. The unhurried shifting of their hooves matched the movements of the coach horses standing close by, cropping grass.
Blood saturated my riding gloves as I held the gaping wound together in what seemed increasingly like a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. I daren’t move in case the outpouring worsened. Cramps spread across my back, and the hard pebbles of the road dug into my legs.
My breath misted in the crisp autumn air, and I feared my patient would begin to shiver in that uncontrollable way I’d seen before in others. He might have lost so much blood he wouldn’t recover before we got him back to the Abbey. The thought, rather than the cold air, made me shiver. I hardly knew this man but I might not get to know him any better.
He opened his eyes and looked directly at me, staring uncomprehendingly until he recovered his senses. I saw intelligence return to his face, and then something else. Something warmer.
I stared at him transfixed. No, oh no. This couldn’t happen, to me, not sensible, shy overlooked Rose Golightly. But I had no way to stop it, and I couldn’t look away now. This wasn’t right, but my treacherous heart turned over when he smiled. “It’s you,” he murmured weakly.
How could a visit anticipated so eagerly, regretted so bitterly, end in this?
Chapter One
1752, one day earlier
“Rose, are you feeling quite well?”
I was tired from the long journey and I felt ill, certainly in no mood for polite disclaimers. “No,” I snapped. The nausea didn’t come entirely from the dreadful state of the drive leading to Hareton Abbey, but from my dislike of meeting new people.
I looked past my sister to glimpse Steven Drury, one of our two male escorts, riding by the side of the hired coach. I envied him. I’d have been much more comfortable on horseback and I wouldn’t have had to talk to anyone. “I’ll be well once I get out of this infernal coach,” I said.
“When you hire them you can’t inspect them,” my sister-in-law said in her practical way. “And we sold our travelling coach years ago. When do we travel long distances?”
“This last week.” I shifted on the worn leather seat, futilely trying to improve my position on the lumpy upholstery. I’d been trying to do that for days. The only respite had come when we stopped to change horses and we could get out for a time and stretch our legs.
Martha gazed out of the other window, at the overgrown trees bordering the drive. Fallen leaves, so prevalent in October, made our progress even more treacherous.
My sister, Lizzie, turned away from the gloomy prospect outside. “I believe Lord Hareton’s trying to deter visitors.”
“So why,” Martha demanded, in an exasperated tone, “are we really here?”
“To witness the marriage of our cousin, the Honourable Edward Golightly to the only daughter of the Earl of Hareton,” chanted Lizzie, quoting the letter we had received a month earlier.
Martha made a “Tch” of exasperation, turning to stare out the window again. The coach moved slowly, crawling and bouncing up the drive. It was bordered by overgrown lime trees, soaring far above where they should have been curving gracefully over our heads. The other routes of access were probably worse. “What kind of earl leaves his drive in this state?” Martha demanded.
“An eccentric one?” I suggested.
“What sort of man will let his only daughter marry into this?”
“Perhaps the Southwoods don’t know about this either, my dear,” said her husband, my brother. “They arranged the marriage in their children’s childhood, after all. The last Lord Hareton wasn’t like this, was he?”
“Far from it.” Martha glanced again at the picturesque but treacherous scene outside the relative safety of our coach. “He’s probably spinning in his grave. He planned everything for his sons before he died, even this marriage.”
“What do you think Lady Hareton feels about this?” I ventured.
“I’ve never met her, Rose, and she’s never written to us.” I knew the lack of common courtesy irked Martha. “They married in haste. I thought she’d got in the family way, they married so quickly, but it wasn’t so. They’re still childless and my James is still the heir, after the brothers.”
“Do you think he’ll ever be an earl?” asked Lizzie, ever the social climber.
Martha glared at her. “Not for a minute. I wouldn’t welcome it if he were. Just imagine the changes.”
“Yes.” A faraway look came into Lizzie’s eyes. She gazed dreamily at the worn squabs and faded upholstery of our hired coach.
“I think they just want me to witness the marriage contract,” James said. “Then we can go home and get on with our lives. There’ll be an heir here soon enough.”
“Do you think they want to inspect us?” Lizzie asked.
Martha answered her. “No. Why should they? They’ve shown no interest in the last ten years, why should they want to see us now? No, I think James is right. They want us to witness the contract, and to tell us we’re out of the reckoning, as far as the succession is concerned. If the earl’s marriage is barren, perhaps his brother’s won’t be. Thank God, I say.”
Her voice reverberated around the small space for a minute or two, echoing dully.
“The papers say he’s a recluse.” Lizzie read every society paper she could lay her hands on. “They didn’t say he was mad. I can’t understand how there could have been such a change between then and now.” The proposed country house party she’d dreamed of for weeks evaporated before her eyes.
“At least there won’t be a house party like the last time,” Martha observed, not without relief. “If he’s a recluse, he won’t want more people than necessary.”
“You never know.” Lizzie’s pretty mouth turned down at the corners. “He might have invited a few more people.”
Silently, I agreed with Martha, and fervently hoped her predictions would come true. I was as happy as I could be in our comfortable manor house, surrounded by familiarity. I hated meeting strangers. The sight of the neglect in the drive, the lack of any other tracks coming this way had been a relief, not a disappointment, though I was sorry for my sister’s sake. Her angelic beauty deserved more than a provincial audience.
At last, we came to a juddering halt at the top of the drive, nearly throwing us out of our seats. We waited as the steps were let down, which gave me the chance to take a few deep breaths in preparation for the ordeal ahead. James got down and helped Martha, Lizzie and me to alight.
Silence fell, suddenly oppressive. Steven stood by his horse. We stood by the coach. No one spoke, appalled and awed in equal measure by the sight before us.
We stood in the courtyard, before the main part of Hareton Abbey. Two great grey wings stretched out on either side. Elsewhere, they would serve as a protective barrier against the bitter Yorkshire winds, but here they seemed more like a trap waiting for the prey to spring it. No life stirred behind the windows, dulled with begrimed years of neglect.
The house was rendered in grey Yorkshire stone, formidable and forbidding. It had not been cleaned except by the weather, nor repaired where pieces of the stone had shattered in the frosts of winter. Pieces still lay on the ground. They must have lain there disregarded for some time. The main part of the building towered in front of us. Its air of abandonment was almost tangible: you could almost hear the house crumbling.
“Rose…” Lizzie whispered.
I glanced at her. “Dear God. What have we come to?”
Her face reflected my own apprehension. “I don’t know. This is Hareton Abbey, isn’t it? We haven’t come somewhere else by mistake?”
“It has to be,” Martha said. We spoke quietly; afraid of awakening echoes. “Don’t forget, James and I have been here once before, but it didn’t look like this the last time we came.”
“Lord, no.” James murmured. Martha clutched his arm as if she might never let go. “It’s supposed to be one of the show houses of the county; whatever can have happened?”
The rumble of wheels on the drive behind started us out of our shock. We stepped back to see what was coming, and to get out of its way.
Into the dilapidated courtyard bowled two travelling carriages, as different from our hired vehicle as possible. They were clearly private vehicles, bang up to date in style, bearing emblazoned crests on their doors. The shiny new black paintwork contrasted strongly with the dull, weathered finish on our carriage. The windows were glassed in, but despite their fashionable comfort, the bodies of the vehicles jolted and swung just as much as ours had. The horses pulling them were matched thoroughbreds. They must have cost a fortune.
They came to a brisk halt in front of the house. We watched liveried footmen leap down and run to let down the steps. “The Southwood party,” Lizzie whispered, awestruck. The cream of society, the top of the tree. Her ideal, her dream.
From the first coach alighted a figure that made my mouth drop open in disbelief. A vision of male gorgeousness, a sumptuous feast of a man. Lizzie gasped, but I didn’t turn to look at her. I kept my gaze fixed on the mirage before us.
He wore scarlet velvet, dressed for the Court. He would be sadly disappointed here. His white powdered wig was set just right, his waistcoat was a dream of embroidered magnificence. He swung around to help a lady descend from the vehicle, and when I again glanced at Lizzie, I saw she had temporarily lost all faculties of speech. No doubt remembering her manners, she closed her mouth.
This younger lady was attired—dressed would have been too clumsy a word—in a French sacque of blue watered silk, embroidered down the hem and the robings in fine floss. Frills and furbelows seemed to take on a life of their own, romping over her petticoats. Pearls gleamed at her neck. “Dear God,” whispered Lizzie.
Behind these visions of fashionable excess, another man climbed down. He wore his fair hair simply tied back; his clothes were just as well cut as the other gentleman’s though not as extravagant, and his attitude far more natural. “They’re twins,” Lizzie told me, back in control of her voice.
“I know,” I said. “You told us. More than once.”
To see the Kerre brothers was a different experience to merely reading about them.
The only identical twins in polite society, they made themselves more conspicuous still by creating scandal after scandal. Lizzie’s information continued, “The younger went abroad after eloping with a married woman. He’s only lately returned, after twelve years away. I wonder which one it is?”
“The peacock.” It had to be. The other looked far too sensible.
They glanced at us. The gorgeously dressed gentleman turned back to the coach, and said something only his brother could hear. His twin spun on his heel, the gravel grating under his foot and stared at us for one impolite moment before he looked away. I guessed the popinjay had said something like “country bumpkins”, and I resented the comment while at the same time agreeing with it. We were in a hired coach, and hadn’t thought to make a stop to change into better clothes as the other party obviously had. I smoothed my hand over my worn, brown wool gown.
With a leisurely gait, the peacock approached us and bowed. “You, sir, must be Sir James Golightly. Lord Hareton informed us you would be here.” His voice was faintly musical and touched with a low burr I found unusually attractive.
James bowed in response, and introduced us. The gentleman in turn introduced his party. The beautiful gentleman was Lord Strang, heir to the earldom of Southwood and not the one who had caused the scandal after all. The other gentleman was Mr. Gervase Kerre, Lord Strang’s twin. Despite Lord Strang’s heavy maquillage, the resemblance between them was remarkable. Perhaps smallpox or his sojourn in the tropics had marked Mr. Kerre’s face, but Lord Strang’s makeup was fashionably thick, and his skin could be similarly rough underneath.
“From—Devonshire?” Lord Strang’s voice held a fashionable drawl, but the tones were soft and low.
“Indeed,” Martha answered. “It’s been a long journey.”
“Only to find this at the end of it?” With one elegant gesture, he indicated the hall behind him. “Hardly the gold at the end of the rainbow.”
“Hardly,” I said.
His clear blue gaze rested on my face, making the hot blood rush to my face, heating my skin. I wasn’t sure why, unless my reticence was getting the better of me. “Miss Golightly. The elder daughter?”
“Yes.” I replied too shortly for politeness. In truth, my sensitivity on this subject bordered on the obsessive. I’d reached the ripe old age of twenty-five and hadn’t raised hopes in any male breasts that I knew about, while Lizzie, five years younger, was sought by all. My dark looks couldn’t compare to her golden loveliness and I was too tall for the petite beauties currently in fashion.
“Have we met?” This from Miss Cartwright, the lady in blue.
“No; I would have remembered.” Miss Cartwright raised a haughty eyebrow, but smiled frostily as if I’d paid her a compliment.
Lord Strang looked at the tightly closed front door. “Do you think they’ll let us in?” His frown and sharp tone clearly showed his displeasure. “Or should we just get back in the coaches and return to York?”
I wondered where his father was. This gathering was, we understood, to celebrate the nuptials of Lord Southwood’s only daughter. At first, I had thought she was the lovely lady, but she had been introduced to us as Miss Cartwright, Lord Strang’s affianced bride. The older lady who had stepped down unaided from the coach was her duenna, another Miss Cartwright, presumably an aunt or more distant relative.
As though set in motion by his lordship’s words, the front door creaked open. Its once smart black paint was peeling away; the double flight of steps leading up to it were crumbled, stained and cracked. Nevertheless, it seemed to be the only other alternative to returning to York, so we moved towards it.
We, the Golightlys, followed closely by Steven went up the steps first; cautiously, as the stone was none too safe. At any moment a piece of decayed stone might break, crumble away, and take the unfortunate person with it.
We walked into the Great Hall. Or something that had once been the Great Hall. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside. The great space felt gloomy and cold, clammy with disuse. Martha had described Hareton Abbey’s great marble entrance hall to us, but this couldn’t be the same place.
The staircase with its crimson carpet soared in front of us. Myriad life sized marble statues ranged around the upper storey. Dirt obscured the finer features of the marble, and turned the pure white on the gods and goddesses of a different age to a murky grey. Cobwebs stretched from fingertip to hipbone in a weird parody of the fine lace sported by the Southwood party. The once smart black and white tiles, laid in a chequered pattern, were blurred with dirt. Shuddering in revulsion, I took Lizzie’s arm. We held each other tightly and looked around in silence; all affected by the tomb-like silence of the once Great Hall.
Suddenly, shockingly, the stillness shattered. “My God, I wonder which bedroom Sleeping Beauty rests in.” A male voice, quiet, low but penetrating. I knew without looking that it was Lord Strang.
The man who had let us in waited for us by a small door at one side of the hall. He must be a servant, but his role wasn’t easily identifiable either by his appearance or demeanour. He wore no livery nor the quiet, smart clothes of an upper domestic, but a rough country coat, such as a gamekeeper might wear.
Lizzie glanced at me, eyebrows raised in a tacit comment. When I looked at her, I caught Lord Strang’s glance. He smiled. I looked away.
We moved towards the servant, who led the way through the door and along a passage, where we entered another world. The magnificence and filth changed to Puritan cleanliness. No paintings hung on the wall here, no ornaments adorned the well-polished country furniture, just plain, gleaming floors and whitewashed walls. Our feet clattered on the uncarpeted wooden floor.
The manservant led us to a door at the end that opened onto a modest parlour. Here the Earl and Countess of Hareton and the Honourable Edward Golightly waited for us. The men stood while the lady sat in a hard chair before of them. They were all completely rigid. No smiles marred their stern features. They wore perfectly plain garments, the men simulacra of the manservant, the lady in dark blue and white with no lace, only plain linen cuffs to her sleeves and no jewellery.
Nothing approximating comfortable domesticity spoiled the austerity of the little room. No ornaments decorated the old fashioned carved oak mantelpiece, no cushions added comfort to the hard chairs. I found the obsessively spotless parlour as disturbing as the abandoned magnificence we had just left.
Our hosts bowed rigidly, and the lady stood and curtseyed with an awkwardness that indicated she didn’t do it very often The answering bows from the Southwood party were awe inspiring, especially Lord Strang’s, which combined precision and elegance in one graceful gesture. It seemed more elaborate than the bow he had given us in the courtyard, mocking the Haretons with its perfection.
“Welcome,” said Lord Hareton. I felt anything but welcome here. The door opened to admit the manservant returning with a large wooden tray. It held a large teapot and several tea dishes.
There weren’t enough chairs for everyone in this small room, so the ladies sat and the men remained on their feet. Lady Hareton saw to the tea, practically and without comment. The brown teapot, like the one we had in Devonshire for the servants to use, contained a weak infusion, but we found it welcome all the same. The heated cup warmed me in this unfriendly place. Despite the chill outside, the fireplace was cold, the fire unlit.
“I am pleased to see all of you. I thank you for coming.” Lord Hareton’s tones were exaggeratedly formal, perhaps a legacy of his childhood. The formality of the Hareton household had been famous in the last generation; the children forbidden to sit in their father’s presence.
“I am surprised not to see Lord Southwood and his daughter.”
Lord Strang gave him an easy smile. “He sends his apologies. A minor disposition has delayed his arrival with my sister, but he sent me ahead as a token of his good faith.”
Lord Hareton nodded, his mouth a tight line of disapproval. “It is to be hoped that he doesn’t keep us waiting long. I have made arrangements for our family lawyer, Mr. Fogg, to visit us tomorrow. Also, my minister will arrive. I intend to collect him personally in the morning. He uses public transport. He deems private carriages an extravagance, and I tend to agree with him. I do not wish for a long betrothal period, and I would like the contract fulfilled as soon as possible.”
His glance at Lord Strang asked for complaisance, but he didn’t find it.
“Can the lawyer’s visit be deferred?” the younger man asked calmly, but I could hear the passion beneath. Lord Strang was in a temper.
“No, sir, it cannot. There is—”
Lord Strang lifted his chin. “I don’t know if my sister would be content here.”
“Contentment is in God’s hands, not ours.”
Lord Strang ignored the comment and continued to speak. Although his demeanour was rigidly polite, his low tones quivered with the anger beneath. “The betrothal was never a done thing; your father and my grandfather arranged it, but left it to my father and you to fulfil it. I am here as my father’s representative, and if I dislike what I see, I fear I cannot recommend the betrothal to him.”
Hareton smiled. It appeared malicious, but this interpretation surely must be wrong. I preferred the stern look; Lord Hareton had lost most of his teeth, and what remained weren’t in good condition. “Perhaps you need some time to reflect.” He used a soothing tone that made me want to slap him. “I would welcome an opportunity to bring your sister to God’s family. I hope, once you have met Mr. Pritheroe, our minister, you will come to see the error of your ways and join our family.”
Lord Strang stared, his eyes wide in anger and astonishment, momentarily transfixed. Abruptly Lord Hareton turned away and smiled at James. Now our turn arrived.
“I am pleased to welcome you back to my house, Sir James. I’m sorry not to see all of your family, as I requested, but it is not entirely necessary.”
“My younger brother, Ian, had a fall and injured his foot. He sends his apologies.” Lord Hareton nodded in response to James’s explanation. “My younger sister, Ruth, is barely out of the schoolroom and my children are too young to embark on such a long journey.”
Not the whole truth, but it would do. Ian’s injury was far from serious, Ruth was too headstrong and excitable and the thought of those lively children in a coach on a long journey made me shudder. Not to mention the odd rumours we’d heard about the state of the Abbey. We hadn’t imagined matters would be as bad as this, but it had given Martha and James pause.
Lord Hareton continued to speak. “I have asked you here as a witness to the betrothal, and to give you the opportunity to do something for God’s people.” James remained silent. Hareton ignored the rest of us. As women we were probably beneath his notice. I sipped my tea in an effort to appear unconcerned, waiting for the next bombshell. I had no doubt it would come.
“I have asked Mr. Fogg here for another reason. I wish to break the entail.” Seemingly oblivious to the sensation he caused, he continued calmly, “I do not wish to be known as the earl, and I do not wish for the wealth and privilege that go with it. I wish to live as a private citizen. If the entail on the estate is broken, I am free to do that. I cannot prevent or deny the earldom, but I do not have to use it or encourage people to use the title.”
James couldn’t speak. He stared at Lord Hareton rather in the way a rabbit watches a snake, fascinated, waiting for the final, killing stroke.
“Mr. Fogg informs me that in order to break this document, it must be signed by the heir, and the next heir, in line. That is my brother, and you, Sir James.” Our host smiled, as if this explained everything.
“And you want my sister to marry into this?” Mr. Kerre, who had up to now remained silent could no longer keep his indignation to himself. “Not only to live in a mausoleum, but to lose her standing in society, the privileges she has a right to expect?”
“Only by birth,” Lord Hareton responded.
“That is true.” Lord Strang’s quiet, low voice cut through the air, like the voice of reason. “And among those men born to high state, there are a few who deserve it. I don’t want to leave Maria here because it would make her unhappy. She wasn’t born to this. From what I have seen here, I don’t think I can recommend that my father brings her here.”
He paused, glancing around the comfortless room. “I, however, am strangely intrigued by your minister, and I’d like to stay a little longer, if I may.” His brother shot him a sharp glance, but remained silent.
“I am delighted to hear that, sir,” Hareton replied. “Perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind.”
Hareton’s brother, the prospective bridegroom, showed no emotion at all. Intrigued, I wondered what other surprises this strange place held.
Hareton excused himself, saying it was time he went to pray. He looked askance at Steven in his dark clerical garb, but Steven said nothing, avoiding his gaze. I didn’t blame him.
After they left the room, we breathed a collective sigh of relief, and looked around at each other. Lizzie and I exchanged a smile, then a laugh as we felt the oppressive atmosphere slide away. The exotic Kerres seemed normal, next to the extraordinary figures of our cousins.
“When did you last come here, Martha?” I knew, of course, but needed the confirmation. Something to remind me of my normal life, my normal home.
“Ten years ago. The last earl sent for us when we were married. It was different then. Our rooms were magnificent, even though we didn’t have the best ones and a footman stood at every door.”
“A stickler for ceremony by all accounts,” said Lord Strang. “I have to confess there is no indisposition. My father sent us ahead to form an opinion. He has heard some odd rumours about Lord Hareton, and has serious doubts about the match. Society thinks Hareton is a recluse—they don’t know the half of it.”
“Indeed,” agreed Martha. “It’s all very shocking.”
James looked up from silent contemplation. “I don’t know what to do about this entail. If I refuse to sign it, will it still go through? It’s not that I expect to inherit. Indeed, I don’t wish for it, especially now I’ve seen the property, but I don’t think it’s right. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.” I hated to see my beloved brother so worried. I would gladly have consigned the Haretons and the Abbey to perdition, if it would help him.
“I’m sure I’d feel the same.” Mr. Kerre studied James, his finely shaped lips pursed in thought. “In truth, sir, from what I’ve seen, I think the Hareton estate is bankrupt. He may talk of God and his minister all he likes, but I think his father bankrupted the estate with his extravagance.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Lord Strang. “Why would they leave all the treasures in the Great Hall to rot if that’s the case? I’m sure they could fetch a good price. What’s the rest of the house like?”
James frowned. “You have a point, but on the way here I studied the land. Some of the fields are uncultivated, the animal population is scarce and what buildings I saw are sadly in need of repair.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Kerre, “I saw that too. I think you’re right, sir. The Hareton estate is bankrupt.”
My brother heaved a sigh. “So you think I should sign the entail away?”
“I would never presume to tell you what to do, sir,” said Strang, “but in your place, I would seriously consider it. The situation intrigues me. I want to see more of it, but be assured, sir, there will be no wedding. Please feel free to shake the dust of Hareton Abbey from your heels as soon as you wish.”
A maid chose that moment to come in and offer to show us to our rooms. It was early, but we accepted. When I passed James, he murmured to me, “Don’t unpack.”
I nodded.
My room was spotlessly clean, but contained no comforts, and the fireplace was distressingly bare of kindling. All the drapery had gone, just like the parlour downstairs, and when I looked under the bed, it was as spotlessly clean as the rest of the room. I didn’t know which I preferred; the decayed luxury of the Great Hall or the obsessive, bare cleanliness of this wing. Both chilled me to the bone.
My luggage stood in the middle of the floor completely untouched; a very unusual thing in a well-regulated household. However, I wasn’t entirely helpless. I lifted the lid of the trunk and began to unpack. Remembering my brother’s warning, I left most of the items in the trunk. I sighed when I looked at the gown I had bought in Exeter for this visit, and decided to leave it, after fingering the fine silk regretfully. This was no place for finery. Not for me, at least.
When two o’clock arrived, I could dress properly for dinner with some semblance of respectability. I wanted to go down with my sister, but at half past two, I was still waiting for her. It never took me long to dress; I didn’t think overmuch about my appearance any more. I’d reached the advanced age of twenty-five without raising any hopes, but my sister, at twenty, was at the centre of the marriage market. I left her in front of the spotted mirror in her room, as she primped and pouted at her undeniably lovely reflection.
Only when I left the room did I recall that dinner wasn’t for another half hour.
I didn’t want to meet all those strangers on my own, so I decided to explore a little instead.
I wanted to see more of the Abbey. Like Lord Strang, I felt sure there was a mystery here; this great house held more than bankruptcy. Deliberately, I turned in the opposite direction to which I had come. My romantic soul demanded it and my curiosity rampaged across my more sensible emotions.
At the end of the passage, it turned dark. I soon discovered why. The windows here hadn’t been cleaned for an age. They were begrimed with years of dirt, misting the light that fought its way through them. I wished I’d brought a candle, but someone might see me, and realise I shouldn’t be there. Who would have thought I would need a candle at this time of day?
I turned a corner and opened a door at random, drawing a deep breath when I saw what lay inside.
I recalled Lord Strang’s earlier comment because this room came straight out of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. No neat covers hid any of the fine furnishings from the obscuring dust. It hadn’t been a State Room, but a small room which contained some fine objects, the sort of treasure room often found in great country houses. Cobwebs covered the chandelier above me, adding their own ghostly comment on the scene below. The air smelled of damp decay. I drew my handkerchief over a small round table, revealing the elaborate, expensive marquetry that decorated it. Damp had raised the fine woodwork to irreparable ruin. Even the ornaments remained in their places on the mantelpiece, dotted about the room in casual, gruesome disarray, as if their owner had just stepped out, never to return.
I went to the window, careful not to let my skirt touch the exquisitely filthy furniture and rubbed a viewing hole in the window.
Suddenly, a pair of hands seized me from behind. One went round my waist and the other over my mouth. I froze in terror.
Chapter Two
“I saw you come in here,” a male voice murmured. “Don’t shout out.”
I breathed out in relief when I recognised the voice, and then tensed again when I remembered what lay between us.
He released me and I turned around to confront him. I didn’t like him so close. Not any more. Steven’s garb of sober, clerical black only served to accentuate his dark good looks. So confident, so sure of himself. I moved hastily out of his reach.
“Not here, Steven.” My voice still trembled in shock. When he heard it, he smiled. “Someone might come along.”
“We can always close the door.” He moved toward it. His look spoke of stolen kisses and dalliance.
“No,” I replied, uncomfortably aware of his meaning. I had no wish to be alone with Steven, with the door closed.
He came back to me, took my hand and smiled in the heart-stopping way I had loved so much mere months ago. “What’s made you so missish?”
Even now, I found his smile immensely attractive, but now I knew about the vanity and ambition beneath.
When Steven had arrived at our parish twelve months ago, the young ladies of the district vied for his attention—not all of them in ladylike ways. However, none of them took him too seriously after they discovered he was penniless; so, twenty-five and desperate to be off the shelf, I won. Now I knew my family connections, rather than my looks or personal appeal drew him to me, although at first I let myself think he’d fallen as passionately in love as he’d told me. I was wiser now.
Steven used his grip on my hand to swing me into his arms in a way that knocked the breath out of me. It had excited me once, but now I found it oppressive. He bent his head to kiss me, but I made this impossible by chattering at him, caught in panic. “A strange place, this.” My voice came faster and higher than usual, as I tried desperately to put off the inevitable. Steven ignored my attempts at conversation, my obvious desire to be free.
When he pulled me closer I tried to push away but he only smiled, and I grew worried. My voice rose, “Please, Steven, let me go, I don’t think—”
We heard a sound, footsteps close by, easily discernible in the hush of this desolate house. Steven released me, leaving me breathless, ruffled and tremulous. Whoever approached had heard us, because the footsteps quickened, coming closer.
To my deep embarrassment, into the room strode Lord Strang and Mr. Gervase Kerre, both dressed for dinner in the most up to date, finest fashion. They filled the gloomy room with their vitality, the jewelled colours of their attire bright against the room’s muted tones. I was mortified.
Steven didn’t seem in the least disturbed by their entrance, but I coloured up and turned my heated face to the window.
“Good afternoon,” said Lord Strang. “I trust we haven’t interrupted anything.”
“Not at all,” Steven replied in the same urbane tones, volunteering no explanation. I tried to recover my composure, but couldn’t face anyone yet. I felt so ashamed, though I’d done nothing really wrong. Being discovered here, as though I had arranged a tryst, was enough.
“The gardens are a little overgrown, are they not?” Mr. Kerre strolled to the window and stood by my side. I smelled his perfume, an unusual rich, musky scent I hadn’t noticed before. It was a welcome change from the dankness.
“Any more and they’ll be positively fashionable.” His brother must be referring to the current rage for “wildernesses”. He came to my other side, not standing too close. He smelled of something citrus and floral. I breathed it in.
They had neatly boxed me off from the curate. Steven couldn’t come anywhere near me. I felt even more ashamed to be discovered in such circumstances, but grateful for their assistance. We looked out of the clean patch on the window I’d made with my handkerchief.
“I don’t think our stay will be protracted, but while we are here, I should like to see more of this house.” Lord Strang drew one delicately manicured finger across the dusty pane, before drawing the digit away and regarding it thoughtfully, as if surprised to see the dirt. I gave him my soiled handkerchief, which he accepted with a small smile. He wiped his finger, returning it to me after carefully folding the soiled part inside the cloth.
“I’ll have to change it before I go downstairs,” I said, grateful to find an excuse to leave.
“If you’ll allow me, I’ll escort you.” Lord Strang didn’t gave me a way out of the situation that I was thankful to take. He moved past Steven to the door, opening it for me. We walked out of the room, leaving Mr. Kerre and Steven behind.
When we were out of earshot, I drew a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Think nothing of it. But I should take care in the future who you find yourself alone with, if I were you.”
My face glowed, but I couldn’t take offence at his reproof, because he was right. I tried to explain to this vision of a demigod, masklike and perfect in his immaculate costume, how I found myself in such a situation. I didn’t know why I should explain anything to him, but I might feel better if the Kerres knew I wasn’t the hoyden I appeared to be on this evidence. “Mr. Drury is our curate. He’s been pursuing me for six months or so now. I—I’m having difficulty—”
We had reached the inhabited part of the house, and I shut my eyes to get rid of the humiliating scene. I dared a look at Lord Strang through lowered eyelashes. He didn’t seem shocked.
“You wish to depress his pretensions?” My escort gave me a perceptive look, but spoke with no particular emphasis or even interest. His eyes were such a startling blue. They held a warmth and humanity, totally at odds with his formal, fashionable appearance. His indifference made my situation more bearable, less embarrassing, somehow. I resented Steven fiercely for putting me into such a position.
“Yes, but I’m having difficulty doing so.”
“If you persist he might come to realise you mean it. If not, there are other ways.”
When we reached my room, I left the door open while I fetched a clean handkerchief. “Is your room like this, my lord?” I said, from where I stood by the chest of drawers.
He glanced inside, taking in the lack of drapery and ornament in one swift perusal. “Very much so. But our group of rooms was more hastily cleaned. I’ve set my man to improve matters. I live in hopes that Carier may be able to make them habitable.”
A sharp clatter on the ceiling made me crouch down, afraid the ceiling was about to fall on my head. When I looked up again, Lord Strang stood next to me. I hadn’t heard him move.
“I beg your pardon for startling you. I’m afraid this house will fall apart if it’s left like this much longer.”
I smelled his scent now he stood close to me. I felt his humanity, jarring something inside me and his warmth when he held my hand to help me to my feet. It shook me, in a way I could not explain. Before this incident I could regard him and, to a lesser extent, his brother, as interesting people to study, people we wouldn’t meet again after our few days in this house. Now he became human, and his presence jolted me in an uncomfortable way.
We left the bedroom and I waited while he took snuff; a procedure worth watching. It must have taken him a long time to perfect it, and then by another miracle he made it look natural. He used one hand to flick the box open. Taking a tiny amount of snuff, he applied it to his right nostril with one hand, while snapping the box shut and returning it to his pocket with the other. All the while he showed off his long, beautiful fingers to their greatest advantage. Such a simple gesture, done with such finesse. He met my eyes, smiling, before holding out his arm for me. I felt the hard muscle beneath the satin sleeve of his green coat when I put my fingers on it. I could no longer ignore the man beneath the glossy exterior.
He took me downstairs to a small drawing room. At the door, he released me with a smile at Lizzie’s side, and then moved off to join his betrothed. Lizzie nudged me. “You sly thing.”
I blushed. “It wasn’t like that.” She wore her fine gown. Poor Lizzie, I thought. There should be a house party here for her to show off to.
Dinner was dismal. The food was cold, the company depressed under the influence of Lord Hareton, his wife and his brother. I kept my head down, still ashamed of the compromising situation in which the Kerre brothers had discovered me. Even Lizzie failed to sparkle. I went up to my room as soon as I could and read a book until bedtime.
Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t sleep that night. The blankets on my bed were thin and few in number. Although I put my heavy travelling cloak on top, it made little difference to the chill filling my bones. I tossed and turned for an hour or more. Just as I was about to give up and get up, my door opened.
Sitting up quickly, I stifled a scream, immediately aware of the strangeness of my surroundings and my own vulnerability within them. My trembling fingers felt for the tinderbox on the nightstand.
“Rose, I can’t sleep.”
Steadying my hand, I struck a light. “Come in then,” I said to my sister. “And bring your bedding with you.” While she fetched them, I recovered from my shock. I didn’t like this house. The sooner we went home, the better.
We enjoyed the plenteous expanse of the generously proportioned bed, and with Lizzie’s blankets, we had a much more comfortable night.
When we woke in the morning, I got up with her. I saw the speculative looks she had cast at Mr. Kerre the day before and didn’t want her to be alone with him. I was afraid my flirtatious, innocent sister might tumble into trouble with these worldly wise guests. She needed my company.
The fire hadn’t been laid or lit, so we shivered in the chilly rooms. It might be colder indoors than out, with the damp from a long-unheated house and the roof most likely in a state of disrepair, letting in the rain. Our rooms faced away from the sun in the morning, which made matters worse. We found the garments that were easiest to get into—yesterday’s riding habits. Shivering in our underwear we managed to climb into the warm woollen cloth, and tied each other’s laces and tapes at the back as quickly as we could.
Hurrying downstairs, we tried to find somewhere warm. We checked a couple of rooms and found their fireplaces as bare as the ones in our rooms.
Eventually, in the small parlour, we found fresh bread and cheese laid out on a table. Used plates were stacked upon a sideboard, while clean ones stood on the food table. The evidence showed someone had been here before us. We helped ourselves to the food and a nearby pitcher of water. There was no chocolate or tea, nothing to warm us.
We ate in silence; both overwhelmed by the silence of the Abbey and the oppressive atmosphere it engendered. However, we left the room a little more satisfied in body. Then we had to find a way out, since we were determined not to stay in this gloomy, dank house a moment more than we had to.
We doubted the Great Hall would be open at this time of day and decided to try to find a side door. It took some time. We traversed up and down several narrow corridors, but eventually we found a door to the outside world, and luckily for us, it was unlocked. We hurried blissfully outside, as though we escaped from a prison.
This side of the house was relatively well kept, the path clear and not pitted like the main drive. After we took a few deep breaths of the clean, autumn air, we decided to discover where it led, perhaps to the stables.
Rounding a corner, we nearly collided with Mr. Kerre. Flustered, I smiled politely. My society manners had never been what they should be—at least that’s what Lizzie had always told me, though I found they served well enough.
He smiled in a friendly manner. “I thought I might take a morning ride.”
“You must have been up early.” Everyone knew about, or thought they did, the late hours kept by members of polite society. I presumed the Kerre brothers didn’t get up much before noon.
“I’m not used to sleeping in. Besides, there isn’t much rest to be had on a lumpy bed.”
We joined in his good natured laughter. “Lord Hareton told me he has been up since five,” Mr. Kerre continued. “He says he rises to pray for guidance throughout the night if he cannot sleep.”
We took the information with complete gravity, in the same way Mr. Kerre delivered it. After all, a man was entitled to his beliefs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been awake at five,” Lizzie said.
Mr. Kerre smiled. “Oh, I have, but recently it’s been from the other end and I’ve been retiring, not rising. The few times I’ve risen at that time have been for a journey, not for prayer.”
“Are such hours frequently kept in London, sir?” Lizzie was ever eager to be in the know. “We are to go next Season, you know, to visit our Aunt Godolphin.” Knowing such exalted people might give her the entrée she needed next year. Aunt Godolphin never made any bones about informing us that we would be unlikely to obtain access to the ton if we stayed with her, although her contacts were most respectable, and we could expect to enjoy ourselves and perhaps make a few useful connections. But with the acquaintance of one of the privileged few, our chances went up.
Lizzie’s eager innocence seemed to amuse him. “Such hours are regularly kept by some people. I can’t say I know your aunt, but, of course, I’ve been away a very long time.” That was a kind thing to say.
We turned and began to walk along the path toward the stables together. It seemed the only way we could go, apart from back to the house, as weeds and overgrown plants tangled every other path. This abandonment seemed malicious, as though something more than financial ruin had caused this desolation.
It was blessedly easy to talk to Mr. Kerre. His manners were not in the least condescending. “You went to India, I believe, sir,” I said.
He smiled. His stern features softened, and at once underwent a change that persuaded me that I could talk to him without fear of ridicule. I imagined that he never ignored the more unfortunate girls at public gatherings. “It wasn’t exactly voluntary, but I came out of it better than I deserved.”
We hadn’t expected him to be this frank. I found it refreshing, but from the look on her face, Lizzie found it disconcerting. “I think you’re past all that now, sir,” I said.
“Just so,” he agreed cheerfully.
The stables were in much better repair than the main house, arranged in a U-shape around a central yard. There in the yard stood a large bay stallion, saddled and ready. The groom at his head struggled to control the animal, which appeared full of oats and eager for some exercise. Mr. Kerre looked at the beast with satisfaction. “I planned to go into the village to find some breakfast. Richard’s already gone with Lord Hareton and his brother on their mission to collect their prophet.” He grinned. “But I think a good breakfast was more of an enticement than the opportunity to meet the fabled minister.” Much of Lord Hareton’s conversation the previous evening had been of this man, who obviously inspired his lordship to adopt his present way of life. Would you ladies care to accompany me?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid we didn’t bring any horses.” I would have loved to ride out. At home, I often did so, in the morning.
“That’s no problem. Miss Cartwright and her aunt sent their hacks ahead with our mounts. If you feel you could give them some exercise while you’re here, they would greatly appreciate it. My brother’s intended doesn’t spend much time on horseback, although she likes to travel in state.” His comments made it clear what he thought of the beauteous Miss Cartwright. And horses needed exercise.
I opened my mouth to refuse but Lizzie forestalled me. “That’s very kind, sir. It would be a pleasure.”
Bloodstock was expensive and clumsy riders could ruin a good horse. However, since Lizzie had accepted with such alacrity I had to accept too, and thanked him. The propriety of such an action troubled me, too. Before I could think it through, Mr. Kerre turned and gave the groom an order. The man went off to prepare the horses.
“I’m told the village is only four miles away, and boasts a comfortable hostelry,” Mr. Kerre said. “I’m not sure we can expect much here, and I need sustenance, especially in the mornings. The others have quite a head start on us. They set off nearly an hour ago.”
“I didn’t think Lord Strang would keep such early hours,” Lizzie said lightly. It was a forward comment, but Mr. Kerre didn’t seem to mind.
“He’s a law unto himself. He has few habits, changing from day to day. Indeed, I hardly recognised him when I returned from abroad, he’d changed so much. Besides, he had a poor night of it last night. He said he’d ordered every stitch of bedding he had brought with him put on the bed. Even then, he couldn’t sleep, so he gave up and got up.”
“We doubled up,” Lizzie confessed. “The bed was large enough, but the bedding too thin.”
Mr. Kerre smiled again. “I wish we’d thought of that.” I found it difficult to imagine the haughty viscount sharing his bed with anyone except, perhaps, Miss Cartwright after they wed. Then, they would be at either side of a very large, grand bed. I couldn’t imagine him with his brother in the same fashion as Lizzie and I had scrambled our bedding together last night.
In a remarkably short time, the groom had found the two horses and tacked them up with ladies’ side-saddles.
“The groom is very efficient,” I remarked. “More than I expected of this place.”
“He’s my brother’s groom. We brought him with us.” Mr. Kerre called to the man, “Did you sleep well, Bennett?”
“No indeed, sir,” the man called back. He didn’t seem to care who overheard. “It’s very draughty, up by the roof in the main house. I’ll try to find somewhere nearer to the stables, I think.”
Mr. Kerre nodded to Bennett and helped us mount the horses, which were very well kept animals. The side-saddles must belong to the Kerre party too, as they were of good quality and not at all worn. I thought sadly of my well-used gear left at home, waiting for me to save enough from my pin money to replace it.
“We owe you our thanks for the loan of the horses and saddles,” I said, when I’d settled my mount.
Mr. Kerre, now also mounted, held his huge animal’s reins with wrists of steel. “Not at all, ma’am. They need the exercise, and I can see you’re well accustomed to riding.”
My horse was a well-behaved animal with a springy step, indicating good feeding and care. I loved to ride, relishing the freedom it gave me.
We followed the path out of the stables that led away from the house, heading for the gates and the outside road. Concentration was needed to avoid overhanging branches and avoid the occasional pothole. When we reached the gates, we turned on to the main road outside with some relief, as even this was in better condition than those within the estate. We could ride abreast and converse, something we had been unable to do on the narrow, rutted path inside the Abbey grounds.
Lizzie began with an easy gambit. “Is India so very hot?”
“Indeed it is,” Mr. Kerre replied. I mentally castigated my sister for an idiot, for asking such a stupid question, but he didn’t seem to mind. “It’s hot enough to kill many Europeans. I saw many diseases caused by the heat out there. It is, however, a country of many changing scenes and very beautiful, indeed.”
“Why did you leave it, then, sir?” I knew what Lizzie meant: wasn’t it time he came home and found himself a wife?
“I thought I should come back and make my peace, and I think India had finished with me. My last venture was none too successful. Once I made myself a competence, the challenge went out of it.”
His description of this country genuinely interested me, besides the differences between India and England. “Where did you stay, sir?”
“Calcutta, mostly. It’s in the north, but still very hot.” He looked into the distance, as though thinking of that hot country, and all the colour he had left behind, only to return to this pale day, in this bleak part of the world.
I almost forgot my manners, strangely, at ease with this man. “When did you leave, sir?”
“Last year.” He didn’t look at me. As he swayed easily with his horse’s walk, he continued, “I’d done enough.”
“There has been trouble there recently, but anything I know about it I read in the newspapers. I really know very little of India.”
“Very interesting it proved to be.” He glanced at me, and gave me one of his easy smiles. “I arrived in ‘46, just as the French captured Madras. They returned it in ‘48, but they’re still jockeying for position out there. There are riches enough for everyone, for an enterprising person, but governments think otherwise. Still, I have every trust in Robert Clive, who seems to have the situation in control for the Company.”
Such conversation fascinated me, but I heard so little of it back home. Devonshire people were more concerned with local matters. “Is Mr. Clive a great man?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, ma’am. I’ve not met him above half a dozen times, but he seems to be the right man in the right place.”
“Will you go back?” Lizzie asked.
He didn’t answer immediately, but controlled his horse. The great animal fretted for a gallop, shifting restlessly. Mr. Kerre seemed to find the stallion easy to control. “I don’t think so. India is for young, ambitious men. The climate is unhealthy for the English, and every day is a gamble, with health and with the financial ventures. I left while I was still winning.”
These enquiries satisfied Lizzie for the present. Lord Strang’s betrothal put him out of the picture, so his brother was the only eligible male in the party. If I knew my sister, she would try to make the most of it. His manners were so unaffected that he put me at my ease as few other men outside my own family had. I liked him, his easy manner, and his lack of condescension, but bitter experience had showed me that men looked on me as a friend, and a way to approach the delectable Elizabeth.
Lizzie shifted slightly in her saddle, to show the shape of her body under the riding habit. This trick had brought previous swains to their knees, but she had merely practiced on them, ready for our all-important visit to London. I had an inkling she would now try her well-practiced arts in earnest.
“The colours in India are most remarkable and the architecture is unlike anything you have ever seen before—” Mr. Kerre began, but cut short when he saw something in the road ahead. We were too far away to distinguish it completely, but we could see a coach, and a coach in trouble.
“Your parents—” I began in alarm, but he interrupted me.
“No, they aren’t planning to arrive until we send word. This must be Hareton’s coach—my God, Richard!” His voice rose with the realisation, and he spurred his horse forward. Lizzie and I kicked up our mounts and followed as fast as we could behind him.
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