Amanda Scott (8 page)

“Yes, Aunt Hetta, to be sure,” Chalford cut in gently. “Mr. Petticrow is a kind man, as anyone will agree, but if he has made any significant progress against the local Gentlemen, I for one will be surprised to learn of it.”

Lady Hetta frowned, then said with dignity, “’Tis a very difficult job, Joshua, and he is not, perhaps, a very clever thinker, but he is a vast improvement over that dreadful Mr. Hensby, who preceded him here. Remember how shocked we all were when he ordered a patrol to search the church during Sunday service? The very idea! Marching right up the center aisle, even into our private chapel. Desecration!”

“The church,” exclaimed Adriana, looking from one to the other. “Surely not!”

Chalford looked at her, dark eyes atwinkle. “Not very wise of him, certainly. That was Hensby’s last official act, over six months ago. We have had Mr. Petticrow since then. I rather think Hensby was a young man more to be pitied than otherwise.”

“Joshua, how can you say so?” Lady Henrietta demanded indignantly. “Our very own church!”

“And the first time within memory, I daresay, that there was nothing in its cellars or belfry that did not belong there,” retorted her nephew. “Really, Aunt Hetta, can you doubt for one moment that someone slipped the information to poor Hensby with the intention of causing just such an incident as that raid? There was nothing his superiors could do once the members of the congregation were roused to fury, as they were, other than to send Hensby packing.” He smiled at Adriana. “Hensby, I might add, was a zealous young officer with a persistent curiosity, who annoyed the Gentlemen much more than does Mr. Petticrow.” He glanced at Lady Henrietta, surprising her in the act of covering a large yawn. “Back to bed for you, ma’am. I daresay there will be no more alarms tonight.”

“I shall sleep all day tomorrow,” declared Lady Henrietta, getting obediently to her feet and setting her teacup on the side table. “I do not wish to hear what Adelaide will have to say about this uproar.” She left them, adjusting her nightcap and clutching her dressing gown tightly around her thin form.

Adriana looked up at her husband with a smile. “Will she really?” she asked. “Stay in bed, that is?”

He chuckled. “She is neither wise enough nor lazy enough to do so. I’ll wager she breaks her fast in the morning room.”

Morning dawned grimly gray, with large black clouds looming threateningly over the Channel, the waters of which were just as cheerless. Adriana, upon rising, gazed out the bedchamber window in dismay. Her hopes having been raised by starry skies in the middle of the night, she found it annoying to be faced by storm clouds at dawn and informed her husband that Thunderhill’s weather did little to detract from its gothic atmosphere.

“Content yourself with the knowledge that the weather must be just as bad at Brighton,” he replied lightly.

“Yes, but all our friends would be there,” she reminded him. “There would be amusements, things to do, and people to talk to.”

“You will have plenty to do here,” he said. “There are, after all, people and amusements at Thunderhill, too.”

Surprised by a sudden, sharp surge of anger that threatened to overcome her, Adriana dared not trust her tongue, so without another word she turned her back upon him and hurried to her dressing room, where she found Nancy waiting for her. Before she had finished dressing, however, the door from the long gallery opened without ceremony, and Chalford stood there, his temper apparently unruffled, his attitude seemingly no more than that of a gentleman wishing to escort his wife to breakfast.

It occurred to Adriana, accustomed as she was to certain nuances of masculine temper, that perhaps he was restraining his annoyance with her out of regard for Nancy’s presence, so once they were alone in the long gallery with the door to the dressing room firmly shut again, she looked at him uncertainly.

He smiled at her. “Hungry?”

Her impulsive tongue threatened to betray her again, but she held back the sharp words, aware that she would sound childish if she snapped at him now, particularly when she was not certain why she was angry but had an uncomfortable, gnawing suspicion that it was because her walking out like she had had failed to annoy him. Telling herself firmly that to be married to a man who did not indulge in flights of temper was a vast improvement over what she had known before, she nodded in dignified response to his question, and allowed him to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow. Thus, they entered the cheerful yellow-and-white breakfast parlor, looking the very picture of connubial content.

As Chalford had predicted, both aunts were present, sitting opposite each other at the round mahogany table. The silence in the room was nearly palpable, the only sound being the whisper of the middle-aged second footman’s movements as he lifted covers and stirred the contents of one dish after another. At their entrance, he turned from his task to hold Adriana’s chair.

“Good morning, Lady Adelaide,” she said, sitting.

“Good morning,” replied that lady with a regal nod. “I trust that Hetta’s nonsense did not undo your rest.”

“Not at all, ma’am.” She turned to Lady Hetta, who had not looked away from her plate, and said gently, “Good morning. I hope you were also able to get back to sleep.”

“Oh, yes,” murmured her ladyship, bobbing her head. “Good morning, Joshua dear.”

“For goodness’ sake, Hetta,” said Lady Adelaide, “stop sulking and sit properly. You’ve made a fool of yourself and been scolded for it, but it is scarcely the first time and I daresay it will not be the last. This cowed attitude of yours is most unbecoming, and I cannot think why you cultivate it. Sit up at once and behave yourself like a proper gentlewoman.”

“Yes, Adelaide, I beg your pardon,” said Lady Hetta, straightening obediently. “I fear I have the headache a little.”

“And no wonder, up at all hours as you were, rousing the household to no purpose whatever. You deserve to have the headache. I am sure it is no wonder that we do not all have the headache. It is surely no fault of yours that we do not.”

“Oh, pray, ma’am, do not scold her anymore,” Adriana begged impulsively. “I am sure a great many people are worried that the French will invade England, and only think if it should really come to pass and Lady Henrietta should chance to be the first to give the alarm. ’Twould be most exciting and heroic.”

“’Twould be entirely apocryphal,” said Lady Adelaide. “Even the French are not so foolhardy as to attempt to invade England’s shores. Nor are they skillful enough to do the thing properly if they were to attempt it. There is nothing whatever to fear.”

Lady Henrietta stiffened and her little pointed chin rose determinedly. “We are half again as close to Boulogne, Adelaide, as we are to London, and the harbor at Boulogne, as everyone knows, is where Bonaparte’s flotilla gathers and daily grows larger and more menacing. We watch from our own windows while the Military Canal is being dug at the bottom of our hill, but it is no more than laid out now, across Romney Marsh to Rye. Its length—the dug-out part—can be measured in yards. Pray, what protection do you suppose it will offer us when it cannot possibly be finished for months, even years, to come?”

“’Twas a foolish notion at best,” replied her sister. “I daresay that children will one day fish in it, and that it will therefore then serve some useful purpose, but as a defense it is laughable, so ’tis fortunate it is not necessary. England still rules the seas, and our coasts are defended perfectly well.”

“Oh, dear, how can you say so when we have fifty miles of beaches that are well nigh defenseless?”

Lady Adelaide sniffed. “I do not propose to dignify that foolish question with a response, Hetta. Furthermore, it is not a suitable topic for the breakfast table.” She turned to the footman. “His lordship will wish to have fresh coffee, Amos, and Lady Chalford will have a pot of tea. See to it as soon as you have served them, if you please.”

“Aye, m’lady.” The footman, who had been serving Chalford, bowed and moved on to attend to Adriana, who had been looking, wide-eyed, from one aunt to the other.

She recollected herself swiftly and, being very hungry, paid little heed to the conversation between the others until such time as Lady Adelaide said imperiously, “You say, Joshua, that you have invited houseguests to stay. May one ask how many are to be expected and when they may be expected to arrive?”

“And how long will they stay with us?” asked Lady Henrietta, brightening at this agreeable change of subject. “I think it will be most stimulating to have houseguests.”

Chalford smiled at her, then turned toward Lady Adelaide. “I cannot answer your questions, ma’am, for I do not know all the answers. The weather must play some part, you know, for it is likely that some of our guests will elect to remain in town until it clears. Otherwise, we may expect guests daily, for I told everyone to stand on no ceremony, merely to come if and when they like and to stay as long as they like.”

“Well, I am sure you have every right to issue such broad invitations, Joshua,” said Lady Adelaide in a tone that belied her words, “but you might have considered how much easier it will be for your servants to prepare for guests if they can be told how many to prepare for and when to expect them.”

“It cannot matter,” said Chalford. “There is plenty of room, and we have never yet run out of food.” The words were said lightly, but he continued to look steadily at Lady Adelaide, and to Adriana’s surprise she nodded and looked away first.

“As you say, Joshua.”

Lady Hetta said suddenly, “You must have been very sorry, my dear Adriana, to have been married without your father by you to give you into Joshua’s keeping, but I daresay that with everything happening so quickly, there was no alternative.”

“Such haste,” Lady Adelaide interjected before Adriana could reply to this abrupt statement, “as well as the fact that you were married from your brother’s house, Adriana, indicates that you must have been married without banns.”

Adriana smiled at her. “For that, you must blame my brother, Alston, ma’am. He insisted upon a special license, you see. I daresay,” she added with a smile, “he wished to be rid of me quickly, once he had found someone willing to marry me.”

“It was I who suggested the special license, sweetheart,” Chalford said. “I am an impatient man, so once I discovered there was no thought of your father’s attending the ceremony, I’m afraid the notion of waiting three whole weeks before being allowed to claim you for my own became intolerable.”

“Waiting three weeks to get back to Thunderhill is more the case,” Lady Hetta said, chuckling. “We know, for Lydia wrote in her last letter, ages ago, that you had had your fill of London.”

Adriana, who had glowed at her husband’s words, experienced deflation at Lady Hetta’s. She looked at Chalford now, keenly. “I am sure Alston said he’d decided upon a special license in order that we might be married from the house instead of at the church. ’Twas too public at Saint George’s, he said.”

“Yes, he said that,” Chalford agreed, “but we both wanted the matter finished quickly, and banns do take three weeks.”

“Banns are common,” declared Lady Adelaide. “To have one’s name shouted out in church three weeks running … Well, no person of gentle breeding could wish for such a thing. Much better, too, to have had the ceremony in a private house where one is not subjected to the stares of strangers. You did right, Chalford. I am pleased with you.”

Adriana looked searchingly at her husband. “Did you truly wish only to get home quickly, sir?”

He returned her look. “I always wish to get home, sweetheart, and this time more than ever. After all, I was bringing you with me, was I not? To kick our heels in London once the business was agreed upon seemed absurd when to avoid such a course would take no more than the greasing of a fist or two.”

“You make the special license sound like a bribe.”

“Well, is it anything less? One pays handsomely for the privilege of being married in one’s own good time, outside the church. I agree with Aunt Adelaide, in that I should not have liked hearing my name or yours shouted out in public, nor would I have liked our being gawked at by the common mob, which is what would have happened had we been married at Saint George’s. A special license was more sensible, all ’round.”

Adriana was silent, scarcely listening as Lady Henrietta hastened to assure her that Chalford spoke the truth, that she would not have liked the publicness of banns or a church wedding either. Adriana didn’t believe for a moment that such factors had anything to do with anything. Lady Hetta had been right before in saying that he had merely wished to get home.

Though Miranda had insisted that Chalford had fallen head over ears in love, and though Adriana had been given more than one reason to hope that might be the case, it was not. He had simply found a wife, a suitable mistress for Thunderhill. The fact of the matter was, she decided, that she had married a man who was already married to his home. Prying him out of a castle that came first in importance with him was going to prove a major undertaking and no mistake, but prying him out was becoming hourly more important if she was not to be buried alive there.

“May one ask how many we are to expect?” asked Lady Adelaide when, the wedding having been fully discussed, the subject of the visitors had come up again.

“Of course,” Chalford replied, smiling at her. “I invited a good many, because I thought it would help Adriana adjust to her new home if she had lots of her friends around her. I daresay we shan’t have more than ten or a dozen at a time, though, so there is no need for any extraordinary preparation.”

Adriana blinked at him. She remembered with a shudder the sort of upheaval that had occurred at Wryde whenever guests of any number were anticipated. How could Chalford be so casual about ten or a dozen arrivals?

Lady Adelaide nodded, however, and over the next few days, Adriana learned that, just as he had said, there had been no need for alarm. Guests arrived and were dispatched to bedchambers without the least upheaval or rearrangement of their routine.

Viscount and Lady Villiers were the first to arrive, late Monday afternoon. Sunday had continued stormy, with heavy rain into the night, but by midmorning Monday the skies began to clear, and when the stately barouche lumbered into the quadrangle and up to the entrance of the castle, it could be seen that the coachman, though bundled in yellow oilskins, was perfectly dry.