Love Bade Me Welcome (11 page)

“I’m sure everything will be all right. This is not the time for you to be too concerned. Worry won’t do you or the child any good.”

“I am not particularly worried,” I informed him. “Naturally I would much prefer that my husband were still alive, but widows have borne up under childbirth before.”

He frowned faintly. Ought I to have made more fuss, more protestations of feminine fright and sorrow?

“Yes, well I shall do everything in my power. I will stop in to see you from time to time. In the meanwhile, don’t fancy yourself an invalid. You can do the normal things except riding, but do them in moderation.”

As I was not an immoderate person, and did not ride at all, I foresaw no change in my activities till my increasing size incapacitated me somewhat. The doctor went on to Thal’s room, and I looked at my watch to see how much time remained till the solicitor’s arrival.

With an hour to be passed, I sat on the edge of the bed. Some lethargy invaded my very bones. I was suddenly exhausted. Perhaps the doctor was right, and an increasing woman needed more rest. Before I knew it I was lying down and fast asleep. I was still sleeping when a servant came to tell me Mr. Rupert awaited me in Sir Homer’s study. I felt tired still when I arose to prepare myself, tired and cranky.

Sir Homer sat behind the desk in a wood-paneled office, quite a handsome room, with the solicitor across from him. They both arose to greet me and show me to the other chair. Mr. Rupert was one of those skeletal men, the shape of his bones apparent through tightly drawn skin, with only enough flesh to cover them. The law had drawn off all his humor and joy. He was as dry and dull as a law book.

“An unusual case we are faced with, but by no means unique,” he informed us. “There is nothing new under the sun, or very little. I shall spend the next days looking into precedents, but my trained opinion is that the estate is in escrow till the birth of Lady Blythe’s child, at which time it will revert to yourself if the child is female, Sir Homer, and to the child if he is a male. As Sir Norman left no other guardian, then Lady Blythe—yourself, ma’am—will be the child’s guardian in either case, whether male or female issue.”

“We understand that, Mr. Rupert,” Homer said impatiently. “What we wish to learn is what is to be done in the meanwhile. Which of us is to manage affairs here?”

“What would a lady know about management? A guardian should be appointed. I would be happy to act in that capacity, with of course Lady Blythe’s and your own approval, but on a day-to-day basis you will continue to run things,” he decided. “I shouldn’t think Lady Blythe would have any objection to that.”

Both gentlemen regarded me. It was Mr. Rupert who spoke. “I can vouch absolutely for Sir Homer’s integrity and knowledge in these affairs. You would not want to be bringing in an outsider. He would have to be paid, and what is the point? You both want the same thing. Both are interested in maintaining the estate, and improving it if finances allow. There can be no conflict of interest between you.”

“I have no objection to Sir Homer’s continuing as manager, with the proviso that I be consulted on any major matters. Sales, purchases—those matters involving large sums of money should be discussed with me.”

“I’m not planning on any wholesale buying or selling,” Homer exclaimed, displeased with my stand, but Mr. Rupert upheld me, as my agreement was required to appoint him guardian.

When this was settled, Mr. Rupert broached another troublesome subject. “About the estate jewelry, Lady Blythe...”

“I have already told Sir Homer I know nothing about it. I have never seen it. I was not aware of its existence till he told me.”

Mr. Rupert was surprised into a normal utterance. “What the deuce could he have done with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’d better institute some investigations in Norfolk,” Homer informed him.

“I will. I cannot go myself. I’ll send a clerk down to make enquiries of the local merchants and gentry. It’s possible he sold it, which is illegal of course, and well he knew it.”

“Then he would not have sold it. My husband was not a thief. Make enquiries at the local banks. He might have had it put in a safety box.”

“I will do that. It is not possible he had secured it—hidden it, that is to say—in the cottage you hired?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“His personal effects—what became of them?”

“His clothing was given to charity. His books and papers were sent here, and his other personal items I have with me—a little jewelry, some silver plate, and so on. I drove his carriage and horses. There was nothing else. We lived in a hired, furnished house. Norman hadn’t much with him when we married.”

“Extraordinary!” Mr. Rupert exclaimed.

“What is extraordinary about it? His home was here. He left his things behind when he traveled. I have looked through his room here quite thoroughly. There is no jewelry.”

“That is strange, very strange,” he said with a look to Homer, who clearly shared his view. I believe Homer also suspected that I was concealing the jewelry. It was settled in his mind now that I was a conniving woman. If my innocent query for the dower house and the mistress’s chamber hadn’t done it, my pregnancy had.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “You will let us know what you learn in Norfolk?”

“I’ll keep in touch with you both. There will be papers to sign regarding my trusteeship, and a fee to settle,” he added.

This was agreed between the three of us with no argument. I had no idea what the normal rate was, but when Homer nodded at the man’s suggestion, I too gave a considered approval. Rupert began shuffling his feet, preparatory to leaving.

“There was the matter of the dower house, Homer,” I reminded him.

“All that will be held in abeyance till the child is born,” he said. “It will be difficult to rent it out, when you may want it yourself in seven months’ time. And if you do not, no doubt my mother will,” he added, in tones that said clearly she would not wish to share a roof with me. And neither would he, apparently, as it was now implied I would remove from Blythe Wyngate if my child was a girl. No mention now of my own apartment, nor of any surfeit of rooms.

“You’re right, of course,” I said, through stiff lips.

“If there is nothing else, then I’ll get to work on this,” Mr. Rupert said, arising with his first smile of the visit. I think his fee was what caused that unnatural expression to afflict him. A smile was a sorry sight on that skull. He left, to be shown out by the goat-faced butler, and Sir Homer turned to me.

“You have not visited with my mother today,” he said. “She wishes to apologize for her outburst this morning. It was the shock of your announcement that caught her off guard.”

“The sight of me won’t do her any good,” I answered, remembering her ashen face when I told her my news.

“Don’t be hard on her. She is fond of you, Davinia. She was so very happy when you came to us.”

Very true, she liked me well enough as a pensioner, but as mistress—oh no! She had made her displeasure very clear. “In that case, I’ll look in on her now, before dinner. I know you sit with her after.”

He nodded, and I arose to leave. He came to the door and stopped me by placing his hand on my arm. “There is no reason for us to be at loggerheads either,” he said gently. “Whatever way events turn out here, we will still be neighbors and connections. If you inherit Wyngate, I hope you will feel free to bring your problems to me. And if I inherit, you will always be welcome to make your home here.”

Being a civilized animal, I was required to express a polite acknowledgment of this scheme, but being also a rational one, I could not but wonder at this new conciliating tack. I looked into his eyes for a brief moment only. To gaze too long was dangerous. There was some hypnotic force in them, something that led me to foolish fancies. I had to shake myself to attention as I mounted the stairs to Thalassa’s room.

The concern was not for me and my plight, I told myself. It was said only to keep his hand in at the running of Wyngate. He was hinting he would not refuse the job of managing the estate for us, if my child was a son. For close to twenty years, till the boy was through with school and college, he would go on lording it around the countryside, master of Wyngate in appearance and deed, if not in fact. Norman had not trusted him in that role—there must have been some good reason.

His mother sat up in her bed, writing a letter. She smiled to see me, holding out her two hands. “You are kind to return, after my ridiculous mood this morning. It was only the shock, you know. We none of us had any idea how matters stood.”

I lowered my head, as she was pulling at my hands, but I did not kiss her cheek. Instead, she kissed mine. Taking it for an act of hypocrisy, I resented it. Her wiles and persuasions were being added to Homer’s, to gain their end. When I am in battle, I prefer an open, pitched battle to this subtle connivance. I had not learned much from my military father, but I knew at least that enemies had to be identified, and mistrusted.

“Did I think to congratulate you at all?” she asked, when I withdrew from her arms.

“No, you didn’t, Thal.”

“Remiss of me. And you were so happy when you came waltzing in at my door too, with your eyes aglow. I regret that I behaved like a peagoose. Can you forgive me?”

She had a charm about her, an insidious smile, a seeming openness that appealed to me strongly. “Of course,” I said, and feared I meant it. She was but human after all. How could she help resenting my intrusion into their life, snatching at her son’s new glories.

“Whether it is a boy or a girl, Davinia, I know it is going to be a beautiful, healthy, lovely child, and we are all going to love it. How nice it will be to have an infant in the house again. Homer was the last, so long ago one can scarcely remember it. Big houses like this ought to be full of children, laughing, playing, crying, breaking things. I hope we have half a dozen more before you are through. Providing, of course,” she added with a light laugh, “that you first find yourself another husband. It won’t be difficult, though it is not the time to speak of it yet. A mother-to-be in the house is a kind of magical thing. She makes mourning irrelevant. Instead of mourning the deceased, nature cries out to prepare for the new.”

“I feel it too,” I admitted, impressed at the similarity of grooves in our minds.

For half an hour we sat in harmony, making plans for the future. She was to begin knitting baby clothing for me. We were on cordial enough terms that she even joked about the sex of the unborn child. “I shan’t make anything in blue or pink, for it is bound to be the wrong choice. I’ll make the booties and bonnets white, and can embroider on flowers in the appropriate color after the birth,” she said.

After I left her, it was time to make a toilette for dinner. Over this meal, Homer outlined to Jarvis the talk with Mr. Rupert. He mentioned in passing that, if my child was a boy, he would help me to run Wyngate. Jarvis accepted it without comment; neither did I contradict him, though I had not actually agreed verbally when he first came up with the idea. He took my silence for acceptance, or hoped to convince me by repetition that this was the logical course.

If not Homer, who would do the job for me? Jarvis had been a poor manager for Norman. I had learned that before there was any question of Homer losing the estate, so took it for an unbiased opinion, at least. He was old, and not interested in the job. Bulow? He was as close to Wyngate as Homer’s Farnley Mote—either of them would have a deal of riding to do. Bring in a stranger, then, a professional steward? But there was no hurry to settle it. Perhaps it would never have to be settled at all.

Some corner of my heart still wanted a girl. Strange that no one asked me what
I
wanted. They assumed I wanted a son, and that I wanted to rule Wyngate, but really it would be an onerous task for an inexperienced woman. I must do it, if I had a son, but how much simpler everything would be if God gave me a girl.

After dinner I went with Millie to the saloon. She sat, shaking her head and smiling at me in a teasing way. When I asked what was on her mind, she said, “Ho ho, the fat is in the fire now! What a courting you shall have, milady Blythe! Not only from Homer, either. Bulow will be around to ingratiate himself. I wrote and told him about your state. A pretty, pathetic widow and the possibility of the estate and fortune tossed in. Too much for men to resist. Which do you favor, Homer or Bulow?”

“It is not the custom for increasing ladies to play the flirt,” I told her.

“But increasing widows—that is a different matter. They will both be busy laying the groundwork for later on, after your son is born.”

“I haven’t quite decided to have a son.”

“The Blythes always have sons. Roger had Norman and Homer; Bulow’s father too had a son. It runs in the family, the way baldness does. With us Dennisons, it was girls. Emily and me—no boys at all.”

“My family breeds girls.”

She ignored it. “They won’t go quite so far as a proposal yet, I fancy, but only prepare you for it, in case it should be wise. You will enjoy both their advances for the next several months, in any case.
My
money is on Bulow. I’d like to see Eglantine’s face when she hears about you. Her place is not so grand as Wyngate. Given a choice, there is no question Bulow would prefer this one. He loves Wyngate as much as Homer does, you know. He spent many a holiday here with Norman, when they were schoolboys. Oh my, yes, he used to call it home.”

“He doesn’t call it home now.”

“Not yet!” She laughed merrily, then belched.

Disgusted with both her conversation and manner, I went up to my room. I was tired enough to lie down, but not tired enough to sleep, so I thought about things.

Millie had a strange way of being correct. She was the first to know I was pregnant, and she was possibly right about my “courting” to come. Even, it occurred to me, Thal had been hinting in that direction when she spoke of filling the house with children, which of course required a husband. How far-seeing and scheming some people were! I rolled along, planning nothing, but letting things happen. But that must change now; I must form my own plans for either of the two futures that awaited me.