A Reason to Rebel (7 page)

Miss Tilling briefly turned to look at him, and as he met her gaze he again felt that strange lurching sensation somewhere deep inside himself. That she had been living under some sort of strain was evidenced in the haunted expression in her eyes, rather as though she expected misfortune to befall her at any moment and was resigning herself to withstand some new disappointment. She became aware of his prolonged scrutiny and pinkness invaded her cheeks, making her complexion appear even paler in contrast. The transformation was remarkable, only enhancing her loveliness. It caused him momentary apprehension as he wondered just what he had set in motion by inviting the girl into his home.

“Susa—I mean Mrs. Cleethorpe is all goodness.”

Alex did not miss the slip of the tongue and was immediately on the alert. Miss Tilling and Susanna Cleethorpe were not strangers to one another, but then was that really any reason for him to be suspicious? His friend’s wife had gone out of her way to do him a great service. It was too much to suppose that a neighbour really had turned off her governess just when he needed a companion for his mother. He reminded himself that Susanna’s roots did not lay in the privileged classes. She obviously numbered many such Miss Tillings amongst her past acquaintance and had called upon this particular one to do her a service.

He relaxed into a chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him, not surprised to see the sparkle of determination already restored to his mother’s eye. He had a feeling that his stratagem would work better than he could have believed possible. Miss Tilling was just what she needed to take her out of herself.

All the same, it would be as well to give her time to settle in before leaving them to their own devices whilst he attended to his business in London. Business which suddenly did not seem nearly so urgent.

Chapter Five

Estelle stretched, wiggled her toes and turned on her side, curling her knees up to her chest. She was conscious of the lifeblood ebbing through her veins as the protective cocoon she had spun round her emotions slipped further and further beyond her reach. She felt warm, cosseted, and soporific as a result of the attention Lady Crawley’s servants lavished upon her. They refused to allow her to lift so much as a finger to help herself, shocked that she would even consider doing so.

It was a situation wholly alien to her, even before her marriage. When she had lived in her father’s grand establishment, she and Marianne had been expected to wait upon one another to save their father the expense of employing a maid to attend them. Married to Mr. Travis, her situation had been even worse. The opinion of society, led by Mr. Travis’s vindictive son, was that she entertained ideas above her station and had no place in a family whose social standing was so far above her own. Since her husband made no effort to dispel that view, Estelle was shunned by the majority of her neighbours as well as her new family and their loyal retainers.

But now, for the first time in her life, she was experiencing the pleasure of being indulged by a kindly matron who could not do enough for her comfort. And it was making her feel guiltier by the minute. She had been at Crawley Hall for two full days, and Lady Crawley’s determination to nurse her back to health personally made her more ashamed every time she considered the nature of her deception.

Time and again she considered owning up, only to think better of it, her recently widowed status holding her back. Lady Crawley was of the old school and would find such behaviour bewildering and wholly inexcusable. Estelle would not repay her kindness by distressing her in order to relieve her own conscience.

Oh, if only Susanna was here to advise her, or at the very least to persuade her that she had done the right thing. But Susanna was not here, nor would she be lending her any assistance in the search for Marianne. It had been necessary to stop the carriage twice on the way to Kent because her friend was feeling unwell. She had apologized to Estelle for the unpleasantness, wondering aloud what could be wrong with her. But Estelle suspected she knew and did not scruple to ask Susanna if her monthly courses had stopped.

“Yes, but I did not think.” Susanna’s hand flew to her face. “Do you suppose? Could I really be…”

“Yes.” Estelle embraced her friend. “Indeed you could and very likely are.”

By the time they had finished comparing symptoms, Estelle was in no doubt that her friend was carrying her first child. As soon as they reached Fairlands, Estelle, for once exerting herself, ordered Susanna to bed. It took little persuasion for Mr. Cleethorpe to send for the doctor, who confirmed the diagnosis.

“I shall not be able to help you with the search for Marianne now.” Susanna pouted. She was already complaining about being confined to bed because of a very slight, almost negligible, swelling in her ankles. “Michael would never agree. He is more efficient than the keenest of gaolers. He would never countenance such action.”

“I should think not! Only count your blessings, Susanna. You have a husband who is concerned for your welfare. Mr. Travis took not the slightest interest in my condition and continued to— Well,” she said hastily, feeling herself blushing, “never mind what he continued to do.”

“That does not in the least surprise me. The man was a monster. Fetch me my travelling writing case, Estelle, if you please. Just because I am forced to idle my time away in bed does not mean that I cannot make myself useful by writing to Lady Crawley to inform her of your misfortunes.” Susanna grinned, her grievances temporarily forgotten. “Come along, Estelle, we must invent a convincing history for you in order to invoke Lady Crawley’s compassion. Not that that will be too difficult to achieve. Now, darling, what would you most like to have been before illness prevented you from making your way in the world?”

Mr. Cleethorpe was completely taken up with Susanna’s condition. He was bursting with pride at the prospect of fatherhood and barely noticed Estelle’s presence. Just two days after her arrival at Fairlands she was dispatched in the smaller Cleethorpe carriage. She hugged Susanna and promised to write daily with her news. Mr. Cleethorpe had absently wished her a safe journey as he handed her into the carriage but she doubted if he had even taken in the fact that she was bound for Crawley Hall, much less appreciated the precise nature of her difficulties. He had been too distracted to make more than the mildest of enquiries in that respect and had not appeared to heed her deliberately vague responses.

Estelle sat up in bed. She knew better than to incur Lady Crawley’s wrath by rising until breakfast had been delivered to her and her hostess had satisfied herself that her charge was sufficiently recovered to leave her chamber. She looked about the room, so much at odds with her hateful one in Hertfordshire, and smiled with pleasure. It was light and airy, with hangings in soft pastel colours and a fire which had been banked so high, the room still retained its heat this morning. A cheerful maid had already been in to set it ablaze again. She promised Estelle her breakfast would be brought up immediately, now that she was awake. The fresh flowers spilling over the side of a vase, filling the room with a fragrant perfume, were replaced daily. The window afforded an uninterrupted view over a pretty courtyard and beyond towards the orchard, in which the trees were in full blossom.

The opulence of her surroundings and friendly efficiency of the servants, far from setting her at her ease, only added to her misgivings. She could not stay here for long. Indeed, now that she had a purpose once again, she was conscious of the passage of time and impatient to commence the search for her sister. But she did not wish to overset Lady Crawley by disappearing so soon after her arrival. She could pretend she had received the sudden offer of a new position. It was a possibility she and Susanna had discussed in order that she might reasonably quit Crawley Hall when she had recovered her strength without arousing suspicion. But she would need to alert Susanna to send the fake offer and could not, in all conscience, do so for a day or two more.

With a sigh she accepted that she must be patient for just a little longer. Wait another week or two, if she could bear it, until she could be reasonably certain that her father was no longer actively looking for her. She glumly accepted that he was unlikely to give up the search for his one remaining child, upon whose docility and sense of duty he appeared to set so much stock, as easily as he had abandoned Matthew and Marianne. She knew enough of her rapacious parent’s character to suspect that he had ambitious plans which required Mr. Cowper’s participation. And the price for his assistance was her hand in marriage.

Estelle straightened her spine and discovered that her conscience had no objections to make when she determined she had done her duty by her father. This time she would
not
submit to his will.

Her father would shortly appear at Fairlands, demanding her return. But Susanna would inform him she had already departed for Hampshire and that they must have passed one another on the road. He would not believe her, of course, but Mr. Cleethorpe did not know where she really was. No one except Susanna did. Her father would doubtless fly into one of his pugnacious rages. Estelle shuddered at the prospect, glad she would not be present to witness the spectacle.

“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Lady Crawley bustled into the room as Estelle was finishing her breakfast. “You look a little better today, unless I mistake the matter. There is a touch of colour in your cheeks for the first time, and I see that you have eaten all of your breakfast. Splendid!” She beamed as though Estelle had achieved something remarkable. “How do you feel?”

“Good morning, Lady Crawley. I feel quite myself again, I thank you, due in no small measure to your kind attentions. I am quite well enough to leave my bed.”

“Oh, I do not know about that.” The countess shook her head, the ribbons that held her cap in place dancing in time to the movement. “It does not do to overexert oneself too soon when one has been so very unwell. You could easily set yourself back.”

“But, dear Lady Crawley, it is such a delightful day and I am sure that a little fresh air would be most beneficial. I have spent these two days looking out at your beautiful park and long to take a turn in it.”

“Well yes, it is rather lovely at this time of year.” Estelle could see she was wavering and smiled winsomely. “Well, I suppose, if you were to dress warmly and lean upon my arm, a half-hour’s exercise might aid your recovery.”

“Oh, thank you. I shall dress at once.” Estelle pushed back the covers but Lady Crawley stopped her, her expression horrified.

“You cannot dress yourself, child. Have patience and I will ring for Middleton.”

Having got her way Estelle surrendered herself to the efficient hands of Lady Crawley’s dresser. An interminable time later she and her hostess descended the magnificent staircase arm-in-arm. Her heart gave a lurch as she heard Lord Crawley’s voice coming from behind a closed door. She was not sure if she was more relieved or disappointed when the gentleman himself did not appear to ask after her health.

Lord Crawley was unlike anyone she had ever met before, and he rather fascinated her. He had an intelligent yet resourceful countenance and features that ought not to complement one another yet somehow managed to exist in harmony. They lent him a raffish air. He had brown curls as wayward as her own and deep-set tawny eyes that sparkled with the same good humour as his mother’s. He was taller than most of the gentlemen of her acquaintance. There was about him a suppressed energy and athletically graceful manner of conducting himself which she found strangely alluring.

In spite of his dispassionate-seeming nature and lazy charm, she had already learned that he despised inefficiency and did not readily tolerate excuses, which was another reason not to curtail her sojourn at Crawley Hall. Lady Crawley confided that he greatly mourned the premature passing of his father. The maids answered her questions about the family with pride in their voices, making it evident that Alex Crawley was a firm yet fair-minded master, universally popular and greatly respected.

Estelle and Lady Crawley set out in the direction of the orchard, where a veritable army of gardeners doffed caps and bowed heads as the ladies passed them. Lady Crawley addressed each one of them by name, often pausing to enquire after members of their families and dispensing advice, which was listened to attentively. Estelle soon realized why so many gardeners were necessary. The park and formal gardens were more extensive than she had detected from her chamber window. They were also magnificently maintained.

Estelle’s spirits lifted as they strolled along the pristine gravel walks. She revelled in the feel of the soft country air on her face and breathed with appreciation the heady perfume given off by the vast variety of flowers waving lazy heads in the late spring breeze.

Their perambulation came to an end far too soon for Estelle’s liking, and they entered the courtyard which she overlooked from her chamber. They sat on a bench to rest.

“My husband laid this out for my enjoyment,” said Lady Crawley. “Shortly after I came here as a bride, just because I remarked once that it was a very pretty spot. That was more than thirty years ago now. My, how time flies.”