Anna Jacobs (21 page)

“I don’t quite know how to start,” he confessed, staring down at his hands, unable to face her.

When he didn’t continue, she asked quietly, “It’s Beatrice, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He stood up and went to stare out of the window, tossing the words over his shoulder at her in short bursts. “I’ve come to love her. I thought, no, I was sure she felt the same. But yesterday when I tried to speak, to ask her to marry me, well, she prevented me. She looked so upset I couldn’t press the point. And yet,” he fumbled in his pocket and threw down a crumpled piece of paper, “that came this morning. And well - I don’t know what to think now.”

Johanna read her mother’s invitation to stay at Satherby. “Aaah,”

“What do you mean by “Aaah”?” he asked irritably. “If Beatrice has no feeling for me, as she implies, why am I being invited to stay at Satherby?”

“I doubt Beatrice knew about this invitation. It’s from my mother. She sometimes takes the bit between her teeth. She can be a very determined woman.”

“So can your Cousin Beatrice!”

“We’re not a family of ditherers,” she agreed smugly. “Well, not usually.”

She was trying to make up her mind as to how frank she dared be with him when the door crashed open and Boris strode in.

He didn’t notice Justin, and even if he had, would have paid him no attention. “You’ll have to come and talk to her, Mother-in-law!” he announced loudly. “She’s determined to get up and I will not have it!”

“Boris, dear, go away!”

“She has no right to - What did you say?”

“I told you to go away. Serle and I are discussing something important and private.”

A shriek of anger from upstairs made Boris growl under his breath and stalk out of the room again, banging the door behind him.

Johanna ran her fingers through her hair distractedly, quite ruining Sarah’s expert handiwork, a thing she would never normally have dared do, then turned to Justin. “Look, I can’t talk now, everything is in chaos here today. Jennice isn’t at all herself. Could you possibly come back tomorrow? I’ll have time by then for a long talk with you. I can’t deal with anything else at the moment, not until I’ve sorted Jennice and Boris out. He’s being unreasonably protective and she’s throwing hysterics at regular intervals.”

He gave a grunt of frustration and stood up to leave.

Johanna went over and laid one hand on his shoulder, gazing earnestly into his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it seems, Serle. I, too, am sure Beatrice isn’t indifferent to you.” There was a loud burst of sobbing from upstairs and she closed her eyes in despair. “I don’t know what’s got into that daughter of mine. She’s done nothing but have scream and weep today. Would you, could you possibly lend us Mrs. Powis for a few days? I’m beginning to think she’s the only one who can talk sense into those two idiots upstairs.”

He hid his disappointment. “Of course. I’ll ask her to come across immediately.” There was nothing for him to do, but bow gracefully and leave.

He rode home slowly and thoughtfully, but as he approached his home, he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn aside and visit the pool in the woods. There, he sat on the rock for nearly an hour, thinking hard, before coming to some conclusions of his own.

* * * *

“Ha!” said the Dowager triumphantly over breakfast the next day. “He’s coming. Told you he would.”

“Who’s coming, Grandmamma?” asked Eleanor, suspending her enthusiastic demolition of a juicy piece of ham and some coddled eggs.

“Serle.”

Beatrice, at the other side of the table, tried to continue eating as if nothing special had been said, but her cheeks turned first red, then white, and the stricken expression which passed fleetingly across her face betrayed her.

Only Eleanor noticed, however, the Dowager still being engaged in gloating over her triumph. “When is he coming, Grandmamma?”

“In two days.”

Beatrice dropped her fork with a clatter.

The Dowager frowned at her. “It ain’t like you to be so clumsy, girl! Are you feeling all right? We can’t have you going down with something when there are guests to be entertained.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Marguerite. I was just, um, just thinking about something and didn’t watch what I was doing.”

“Well, be careful what you’re thinking about over the next few days! You won’t be able to breathe without someone watching you once they arrive! House parties are tedious beyond belief and I am far too old to manage things, so it’ll be up to you two to keep the guests entertained.”

She looked round the oak-panelled room and nodded in satisfaction at its appearance. “I shall go back to breakfasting in my rooms while they’re here, I think. I never could face people on an empty stomach.”

Eleanor saw that Bea was still struggling to appear normal, so stepped in quickly. “Very well, Grandmamma. We’ll look after the guests for you.”

“You’d better arrange a few picnics and dinners and invite the neighbours, too. Those worth inviting, that is! I won’t have curates and farmers at Satherby, whatever the occasion. You can start making your plans today. I’ve told Mrs. Inchby to get the rooms ready and she can confer with cook about what to feed ‘em, but you’d better keep an eye on what she’s doing as well, Beatrice. She hasn’t had a house full of visitors to look after for years.”

She chewed a piece of ham thoughtfully, then waved her fork at her niece. “Not that I don’t trust Mrs. Inchby - she’s a good housekeeper and knows her job - but we don’t want anything going wrong, do we?” She put her fork down, pushed her plate away and rang the bell. “I’ll leave it to you to oversee the preparations, Beatrice.”

She waved a hand to signify that the footman should start pushing the wheeled chair she was moved around in.

Beatrice sat and watched her aunt leave, too upset to hide her feelings. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried desperately to think what to do, but her mind seemed utterly blank. All she could think of was his name. Serle. Serle was coming. Serle! And she didn’t know how she was going to face him.

“What’s wrong, love?” Eleanor asked softly.

“Wrong? Nothing!” Beatrice caught the other girl’s eye and realized that she couldn’t hope to keep up this pretence with someone who knew her as well as Eleanor did, so added hastily, “Well, I do have just a bit of a headache, but it’s nothing.”

“Perhaps you’re starting the influenza?”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Beatrice managed a wry smile. “No, I just - well, to tell you the truth, Eleanor, I don’t wish to get married. And certainly not to a stranger who wouldn’t look at me twice if I had no money. I wish Aunt Marguerite hadn’t invited these Smeathleys to visit us.” She paused for a moment, then offered a distraction, “Did I tell you that your grandmother has settled twenty thousand pounds on me as a dowry.”

Eleanor clapped her hands. “Why, that’s marvellous! And you’ve certainly earned it! Think of the way you’ve looked after her all these years. And after me, too.” She went over to hug her young aunt, who had been looking very down in the mouth since her return from London.

“It’s too much,” Beatrice protested.

“Nonsense! Don’t you think that a woman should bring something of her own to a marriage? I do.”

“But that’s the whole point!” Beatrice cried. “I don’t want to get married!”

Eleanor stared at her, head on one side. “What’s made you change your mind? You always said you’d love to get married when we talked about it. And you said you’d like to have several children too. We even used to draw up lists of names for them. I think you’d make a splendid mother, Bea. Just see how well you’ve done with me!”

There was no response to her little joke, not even the curve of a lip in a token smile, and she frowned again as she stared across the table. Bea must be feeling really bad. Whatever had happened to her in London?

Beatrice spoke emphatically, articulating every word with the utmost care. “I don’t want to marry someone who’s only interested in my money and breeding capacity, Eleanor! That’s all those gentlemen in London cared about and that’s all this Smeathley person is coming here for! If he’s an ambitious cleric, he wouldn’t even consider a wife who brought him nothing. And I won’t be sold like that! I won’t!” She stormed out of the room, something she had never done before.

Left alone with the remains of her ham, Eleanor shook her head. “There’s definitely someone in London she’s interested in,” she murmured. “She wouldn’t get so upset if it were just a question of finding herself a husband. I think she’s already found him, only something’s stopping them getting married.”

She waved the fork to and fro trying to work it out, the food forgotten. “She gets very agitated whenever Grandmamma talks of the house party, yet she’s never even met the Smeathleys, or my Crispin, so that only leaves Mr Serle. Mmm. I must definitely speak to Tilly.”

After checking that Beatrice was out of the way conferring with the housekeeper, Eleanor went to look for the maid. Under the pretence of studying one of the London dresses again, she managed to elicit a considerable amount of information from the maid about Bea and Mr Serle, including the involuntary dunking in the pond, which Beatrice had somehow quite failed to mention.

Without realizing what she was doing, Tilly also revealed the fact that Mr Serle had upset her mistress greatly just before they left Lymsby.

Humming to herself, Eleanor then went away to have a serious think about that and her own situation, which was not going to be easy to resolve, either. Her grandmother hadn’t even thought of Crispin as a possible husband for her, presumably because she didn’t approve of that branch of the family. It was Serle whom Eleanor was supposed to marry, while Mr Smeathley was clearly destined for Bea.

If Eleanor were to carry out her plan to make the Dowager accept her marrying Crispin, she would have to pretend to be attracted to someone unsuitable first. But who? There was only Mr Smeathley and how on earth was she to persuade anyone who knew her that she’d fallen in love with a middle-aged cleric of turned thirty? Her grandmother and aunt were certainly not stupid enough to believe any such thing!

She did not, however, allow herself to become downhearted about this dilemma. Problems were there to be solved. There was always a way through them if you looked hard enough, and she knew herself to be a very enterprising person, not to mention being utterly determined to marry the man she loved.

* * * *

Three days later, the household was on tenterhooks and the Dowager was alternating between extreme satisfaction at her own cleverness and querulousness at the thought of her privacy being invaded and her infirmities paraded before strangers.

In the afternoon on which the guests were due to arrive, she summoned her niece and granddaughter to attend her and sat bolt upright in her wheeled chair in the Chinese Salon, waiting for the guests to arrive.

When Crispin Herforth was shown in, the Dowager said “Hmph!” quite audibly and her expression as she studied him didn’t seem to Eleanor to augur well.

“How kind of you to invite me here, your ladyship,” he said, bowing over her hand.

She allowed him to touch the hand briefly, then repeated, “Hmph!” in a disapproving tone.

He remained where he was, a slight smile on his lips, quietly confident of himself. Eleanor, watching him, thought how attractive he was looking, with his neat country clothes and his blue eyes set so steadily and fearlessly upon the Dowager. Her heart swelled with pride. He wasn’t afraid of anyone, her Crispin! After a moment or two, she lowered her eyes again in case her expression betrayed her. You couldn’t be too careful with Grandmamma.

“You don’t take after the Graceovers!” declared the Dowager, still eyeing the newcomer. “One would think you’d show some sign of the blood. We never have blond hair!”

“I believe I take after my mother’s family in looks, your ladyship.”

“Pity! Still, there’s nothing we can do about that now.”

He managed not to smile. “No, your ladyship.”

The stick rapped the floor for emphasis. “I can’t have you saying “your ladyship” every other minute like that, because you are one of the family, whether we like it or not. So you’d better call me Aunt Marguerite from now on, though I’m not your aunt, just some sort of second cousin. Still, Aunt’s more respectful to a woman of my age.”

“I shall be honoured, Aunt Marguerite.”

“Hmph! That’s as may be. Now - this is my niece, Beatrice Dencey, my brother’s daughter. And this is my granddaughter, Eleanor. It’ll be best if you address them both as cousins.”

He gravely shook the hands of the two younger ladies, one of whom gave him a roguish wink.

The stick was rapped again, but not in anger. “We need to plan what to do with you. You’d better sit down first. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you, for all you don’t carry the Graceover inches. I don’t think one of my menfolk was under six feet tall.” She shook her head sadly.

“I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Marguerite.”

“No use crying over spilt milk. You’re the heir now, and that’s that! At least you don’t dress like a coxcomb. The bailiff will explain to you how the estate is run; I’ve told him to expect you tomorrow in the estate office. It’s in the stable block. Eleanor or Beatrice can show you round the house when they have time.”

Another moment’s thought and she added, “We’re expecting other guests, so there are bound to be plenty of riding parties in the district. You might as well go out with them, because it’ll help you get to know the estate. You’ll join the rest of us for meals and in the evenings, of course, but you’ll be busy with the bailiff during the day, otherwise. At least, you will if you do your duty.” She sounded rather dubious about this.

He inclined his head. “I shall be happy to get acquainted with Satherby, Aunt Marguerite. And it may comfort you to know that I’m quite used to managing an estate already, for I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen, though not one as big as Satherby, of course.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “But your father only died last year!”

“He’d left the management of things to me for several years before that. He infinitely preferred his books. He was quite a noted medieval scholar, actually, something of an authority on the Code of Chivalry.”