Before the light retreated behind the gathering clouds, she spotted a house situated upon a grassy hilltop, surrounded by graceful trees. Thick grass covered the yard. Blonde stone darkened in the shadows of the trees. Glass in mullioned windows glistened as if sheets of onyx. She hurried to the lane leading to the house. Etched upon a bronze plaque, embedded in a stone pillar at the entrance, Darcy read the words
Havendale 1682
.
“At last!” Hesitating to go forward, she clutched her bag, gazed at the house, the tall windows, and ivy. She thought of her father and Uncle Will, imagining them as boys running about, climbing these trees, tumbling about the lawn.
Stepping up to the door, she lifted the iron knocker and let it fall. She rapped twice before a servant opened up. A woman of senior years, dressed in a modest brown dress and stark white mobcap, set her hands over ample hips. “Yes? What is it? What do you want?”
Darcy stepped forward. “I have come …”
“To see if you can have a meal, is it? Well, go around the back, dear, and I’ll have a plate set up for you. But you’ll have to work for it. Hope you don’t mind scrubbing a kitchen floor.” The woman went to shut the door.
Darcy put out her hand and smiled. “I am hungry, and I will gladly help, but I have come to see my grandmother.”
The woman’s brows arched and a smile spread across her face. “You must be Miss Darcy.”
“Yes, I am she.” Darcy glanced past her to get a glimpse inside. It appeared dark and lonely, save for the light coming through one of the windows.
The woman laid her hand on Darcy’s elbow. “Well, come in quick. ’Tis a wind falling, and you’ll catch a chill.”
Darcy untied the ribbon beneath her chin and removed her hat, while the servant took her cloak from off her shoulders. She noticed the look of concern when her eyes ran over her clothing. “I walked a long way,” she said.
“Hmm. From the fork in the road I expect. I know that’s where the coach leaves off, and it is a very long walk.”
“Yes. I hope I do not look too untidy.”
“Well, you’ve had a time of it, now haven’t you? It’s a lonely trek from where they left you, so I imagine you are tired. Brave girl you are to journey all the way from Maryland.”
“I am a little weary.”
“We’ve a warm guestroom waiting for you. It has a comfortable bed, and I’ll bring up a tray of food.”
“You are kind. But I’d prefer to see my grandmother right away if I can.”
“Of course, and without delay.”
Before going on, Darcy paused to brush down her dress. At least a few wrinkles were smoothed. “By what name shall I call you?” she asked the serving woman.
“Mrs. Burke will do. I’m the housekeeper and cook.”
“Have you been with her long?”
“More years than I can count. Follow me, dear. Your grandmother’s room is just up these stairs. Oh, she is going to be so pleased to see you.”
Darcy picked up her bag and followed. Her hand trembled along the banister. She noticed the simplicity of the house. Not a single portrait hung on the walls, no paintings of any kind, except for one at the top of the staircase of a young woman seated on a bench in a garden.
Her eyes not leaving the painting, Darcy paused. “Such a lovely portrait. Is she an ancestor of mine?”
“Indeed she is.” Mrs. Burke turned with a heavy sigh. “That’s your grandmother when she was a young girl. You’d never believe she was such a beauty after you meet her, for she is very old and wrinkled.”
Downstairs the walls were paneled with dark oak, but the hallway upstairs held a warmer effect, painted pale yellow with large windows that allowed the light to flood inside. Darcy scanned the paintings on the wall and the pattern the sunlight made across it. “This floor is different from downstairs.”
Mrs. Burke straightened a crooked landscape on its hook. “My mistress had the old panels ripped out after she married Mr. Morgan. It hasn’t changed since, not in fifty years.” She moved on with a smile. “What a surprise that you have come sooner than anyone expected, and a fortnight after the dear old soul’s eighty-first birthday.”
“I pray she is in good health. I would think, with how fresh the air blows here, that she would be.”
“Ah, she is a bit forgetful. But she’s blessed you know, for not many folk live as long as she, especially when they’ve had so much heartache.”
Heartache?
Could her father have caused it? Uncle Will admitted that his leaving England grieved his mother. Yet he told her,
the Lord said for this cause a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife
. Mari meant more to him than anything. Had her father felt the same way toward her mother, Eliza? Was she the reason he left?
As they headed down the hallway, she made more inquiries. “Does anyone else live here besides my grandmother and you, Mrs. Burke?”
“Mr. Langbourne and his wife, Charlotte, come to stay once in a while,” Mrs. Burke replied. “He’s your grandmother’s nephew and owns this estate. After your father left us, Mr. Morgan changed his will and left Havendale to Mr. Langbourne. Do you know of Mr. Langbourne?”
“I do not. I have never heard of either person.” It saddened her that there existed a breach between her father and grandfather. Was it over his decision to settle in America and take its side in the Revolution? Or was it over his choice of wife?
“Well, this family is widely spread, and growing thinner by the year,” said Mrs. Burke. “When her sons left for America, I thought my mistress would never get over it. Life has not been the same since.”
“Yes, I imagine it was hard to take,” Darcy said. “I never imagined Havendale would be such a large house.”
“Modestly large, but poor. And many of the rooms are not used.”
“Then I am another mouth to feed.” Darcy quickened her steps beside Mrs. Burke. “I will work for my keep.”
“Work?” Mrs. Burke chuckled. “No need to worry over that. It is not to be expected of you.”
When they entered her grandmother’s room, Darcy waited just inside the doorway. The scent of rosewater permeated the air. Curtains hung closed over the windows, blocking out the dull light that had gathered. A fire crackled in a marble fireplace, its radiance dancing across the polished floor and faded Turkish rug.
In a winged chair sat an elderly woman in a gown Darcy could tell had once been
black, now faded to muddy brown. The firelight heightened the color of her pale skin from ivory to rose, and smoothed the lines time had bestowed. She wore the black veil and cap of a widow, and delicate curls as white as snow peeked out along the edges. Her hands lay sedate over the arms of the chair. A golden band with a small pearl glinted on her finger, and a terrier rested his head on the old woman’s arm.
She shifted in her chair, and her dog leapt off her lap to the floor and curled up on the hearthrug. “Burke, I am in desperate need of tea. Be sure it is plenty hot, for I am chilled to the bone today.”
“You had tea but an hour ago, ma’am.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, ma’am. I shall bring you some broth instead. That’ll warm you up for sure, and it is good nourishment.”
Waving her hand, Mrs. Burke made a gesture for Darcy to come further inside the room. The terrier yapped, and Mrs. Burke shook a reproving finger at the pup. Darcy held her hand out to him. He moved to her to be sedated by a gentle stroke over his pointy ears.
“Quiet, Maxwell,” her grandmother ordered. “Hmm. I rarely hear him bark. Maybe he looked out the window and saw that man again, poaching my birds no doubt. Where is Edward? You must tell him straightaway.”
With a gentle touch, Mrs. Burke gathered Madeline’s shawl over her sloping shoulders. “Do not fret, ma’am. Perhaps the man will bring us a plump bird for our supper.”
“I will let my husband decide … ”
“He has, as you know, been dead these last ten years, ma’am.”
Madeline shivered and her eyes opened wide, gray and watery. “Dead?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ten years you say?”
“Nearly eleven, ma’am.”
“Edward. My Edward,” Madeline sighed.
Darcy marked how lovingly his name slipped through her grandmother’s lips, as if it were the only name on earth, and he the only man she had ever loved. It caused her to whisper
Ethan
in her mind, to feel the tone and cadence of his name spring into her heart.
“Oh, how I loved him.” With a lift of her wrinkled hand, Madeline touched Mrs. Burke’s arm. “He has left me lonely, you know.” Her eyes shifted toward the door when Maxwell whined for another touch from Darcy. “Who is that young woman? Why is she standing on my carpet speechless?”
Darcy stepped forward, and her grandmother looked up at her confused. “Is that you, Eliza Bloome?” Her eyes squinted and she looked alarmed. “Where is Hayward? Where is my son? I demand to know.” Half rising from her chair, she dropped back down when her strength gave out.
Darcy approached. “I am Darcy, ma’am, your granddaughter. You wrote to me and asked that I come visit you.”
Madeline’s lips quivered. Surprise lit her face and she searched for Darcy’s hands. “My son Hayward’s child?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“For a moment I thought you were Eliza.” She drew her spectacles on and looked up at Darcy. “But I see now you are not. There is no real resemblance. You have taken after Hayward, I see.”
“I hope that pleases you, Grandmother.”
“Very much so. Such a courageous girl you are to have come all the way across the ocean.” Madeline leaned forward as Darcy crouched down to her. “I imagine it was exciting.”
Darcy smiled. “At times. But it was mostly dull. I am glad to have my feet back on solid ground.”
Madeline pursed her lips. “Strange ground though.” With an effort, the old woman leaned her cheek up to Darcy. Darcy kissed it and then sat in the chair opposite. Her grandmother smelled of rice powder, rosewater, and age. Her cheek felt cold, even with the fire blazing in the hearth.
Darcy glanced down at her soiled hem. “I am sorry for my appearance. I wish I had arrived more neatly attired, but I had so far to travel.”
Madeline shook her head. “It is to be expected. You came by coach?”
“Part way. They set me down several miles from here where the road forks. The coach route turned north, you see, and so I had to be let out.”
A slow breath eased from Madeline’s lips. “You mean to say you walked the rest of the way unaccompanied?”
“I enjoy walking, and the countryside is lovely here.” She did not tell her that the sun was setting when she got out of the coach, nor that she had to sleep in that old ruin a full night—with a haunting wind and distressing sounds.
Her grandmother’s brows shot up. “But you do not know the country here. You were all alone. You could have gotten lost or kidnapped by gypsies.”
Darcy smiled. Her grandmother had no idea how free she ran beside the two rivers back home. “God kept me safe, I can assure you.”
“Hmm, I see he did. I shall be sure to thank him when I say my prayers tonight. Poor child, you need to refresh yourself.”
“Oh, I would welcome that, Grandmother. You are kind.” Darcy held her grandmother’s hands and stood to leave. As she passed out the door, she looked back at Madeline. She liked her a great deal and looked forward to her time at Havendale. Already her grandmother had dozed off, with Maxwell now curled at her feet.
Mrs. Burke led the way to a modest guestroom. The floor creaked under their footfalls. The walls were plastered, painted dull white. Simple furniture decorated the room—a bed, nightstand, and a green high-back armchair near a small marble fireplace.
Already she had begun to feel at ease, being so warmly welcomed and accepted. Yet, she could not help feeling out of place and homesick for the Potomac and the green fields of home. She felt like a wild thing here, for the people she had met along the way, including Mrs. Burke, were of a more reserved nature. She was more expressive and open about her thoughts and feelings.
She had no idea where she fit in, or how she would adapt. But she had comfort in knowing her stay would be less than a year, even a matter of a few months.
She pulled out clean garments from her bag, shook out the folds of a simple dress of a deep nutmeg hue, and held it in front of her. She stared into the full-length mirror, telling herself she would always be Darcy of the rivers and forests. Then she undressed, washed the dust of the road off her skin, and brushed out her long hair until it felt silky again. A black ribbon lay on the dressing table, and she banded the locks up on her head, allowing some to grace her shoulders.
Carried on the wind that buffeted the house, a sound came to Darcy—a horse whinnied. She approached the latticed window, and peering out at the crest of a hill, she spied a man on horseback riding east at an even gallop. She stared. Her heart beat in her breast, and she glanced away in an effort to calm it. The horseman caused her to think back to the day when she first chanced upon Ethan astride the stallion.
Ethan
. She could not forget him, no matter how hard she had worked to get him out of her mind.
An hour later, she went back down the hall to her grandmother’s bedchamber. Placing her palm against the door, she eased it open and stepped inside. She drew near her grandmother’s canopied bed and touched Madeline’s hand with the tips of her fingers. The old woman’s eyes opened and glanced over at Darcy.
“You are much improved,” said Madeline. “Sit beside me. I imagine you have many questions, but not tonight. Later, when I am feeling stronger. I am old.”
It disappointed her, for Darcy’s mind rushed with questions. But compassion—for an aged mind and body, and no doubt a heart that had ached many a year—took precedence over her desire for answers.
“I am expecting my nephew and his wife in a day or two.”
“Mrs. Burke told me about Mr. Langbourne and his wife. I shall be glad to meet them.”
“I do not imagine Charlotte shall be much company to you, Darcy. It is not because she possesses a dignified self-restraint. Something is amiss with her mind, for she is a frail creature and says little about anything that matters. Langbourne tolerates her, I suppose, but does not love her.”