The Last of Lady Lansdown (7 page)

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Beatrice addressed Jane. “Speaking of the River Hulm, did you know your dower house sits on its banks? There’s the most gorgeous view ... but I’m sure you have seen it by now.”

“No I have not.” Jane’s mind drifted to the painful memory of her first days at Chatfield Court. She had so looked forward to riding Beauty all over the vast estate—a consolation of sorts for having entered a loveless marriage with a man she didn’t even like. Before she could take even one ride, Arthur sold her horse, nearly breaking her heart. After that, he had kept her virtually a prisoner, hardly allowing her out of the house.

So no, dear Beatrice, I have not seen my dower house.

“You must see it soon. The old dowager countess lived there for many years. In the end, she was quite mad, you know. I understand she collected all kinds of art work which is still there. You are going to love it, just love it!

Looking across the table, Jane caught the look of apprehension that clouded her mother’s face. No wonder. If that queen of hypocrites, Beatrice Elton, said they were going to love it, then the opposite must be true.

Later that night, after Bruta helped Jane into her night clothes and put her clothing away, she inquired in her usual sullen fashion, “You want anything else?”

“Thank you, that will be all.” Just as she felt every night, Jane was more than happy when her lady’s maid departed. Back when she was single, before Papa ran away and left the family destitute, she had Celeste, who was French and a perfect lady’s maid in every respect. Jane wanted to rehire Celeste after she married. Instead, Arthur gave her Bruta. Heavyset, with a lantern jaw and small, close-set eyes, Bruta didn’t walk so much as she plodded, didn’t talk so much as she muttered in some kind of a foreign accent that Jane could not place. “She never smiles, and she looks as if she disapproves of everything we do,” Millicent had once said of her.

“She’s awfully good at fixing hair,” Jane had countered.

“Even so, how can you stand her?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Even worse, Bruta once worked for Beatrice. Jane suspected Bruta served as a spy as well as a lady’s maid and reported to Beatrice everything she did.

All that is over.
Jane’s spirits lifted. She could soon get rid of the sullen woman. What a delightful thought.

Shortly after Bruta left, Mama came by. The tightness around her mouth told Jane she was still upset. “Beatrice is taking over the house. Can’t you do something?”

Poor
Mama
. She had yet to face the facts. “Chatfield Court truly will be hers. Soon. Much as we don’t like the idea, we must get accustomed to it.”

Mama threw a hand up in despair. “There’s no chance you might be—?”

“None. Well ... almost none.”

“When will you know?”

“I know now.”

Mama frowned in exasperation. “You know what I mean.”

“A week and a half or thereabouts.”

“You will let me know when it happens?
If
it happens.”

“It will happen all right. I suppose the whole world is dying to know. Perhaps I should raise a red flag on the rooftop when the big event occurs.”

Mama looked askance, just as Jane knew she would. “You need not be flip. A red flag will not be necessary. Just tell me, and in the meantime, while we’re waiting, I can only hope you will heed Sir Archibald’s words of warning.”

“You mean about being discreet?” Mama nodded. “Of course, I shall be discreet. What else? Do you honestly think I would take up with another man after ...?” She decided not to finish her sentence. Mama didn’t need to know the sordid details of her marriage to the earl. She wouldn’t want to know. “Suffice to say, you needn’t worry. Men are out of my life. Forever, as far as I’m concerned.”

Mama regarded her strangely. “I would not have thought so the other night when you were talking to Douglas Cartland.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I saw the two of you laughing. You seemed quite enchanted with that scoundrel.”

“I was simply being polite to a guest.”

Mama drew herself up. “You should not have anything to do with Douglas Cartland, unless, of course, you wish to disgrace the whole family.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a grown woman now. I make my own decisions. However, you needn’t worry. I was most certainly not enchanted with the likes of Douglas Cartland.”

“This is all your father’s fault. I only wish John could see us now—poverty stricken, with barely a roof over our heads. Oh, why did he leave us? What did I do to deserve such a fate?”

There she went again. No doubt to her dying day, Mama would grieve for her beloved husband. Why had he run off to America? Even though he lost all their money, they could have worked something out. Why had they not heard from him? He could be dead. If he was, he could be buried in some unmarked grave in the wilderness and his loving family would never know.

I will find him. If I can sail to America, I will find Papa, I know it.

Jane’s heart ached for her mother, but she knew better than to argue, or even try to answer the questions that had no answers. Instead, all she could offer was comfort over what had to be the worst, most heartbreaking experience Amelia Hart had ever suffered in her otherwise sheltered life.

“Tomorrow I want to see your dower house.”

“So do I.” Jane gave her mother an encouraging smile. “We shall see if our new home is as wonderful as Beatrice claims.”

Mama left her room.

Situated on a bend in the river, not far from Chatfield Court, the two-story dower house built of faded gray stone appeared quite habitable from a distance. The closer they came, however, the worse it looked. A tangled, overgrown garden surrounded the house.
It can easily be salvaged
. Jane was in an optimistic mood as she, Mama and Granny traveled up the cobblestone walk to the front door. Gardeners could clear the undergrowth, trim the roses and honeysuckle vines that choked the yard and cut back the branches of the tall elm trees.

As directed by Mrs. Stanhope, Jane searched under a mulberry bush until she found a jar that held the door key. Her heart sank when she turned the key and they stepped into the entry hall. Immediately they were struck by a blast of musty air.

“Horrible!” Mama put her hand over her nose. “We shall all suffocate.”

“I believe Mrs. Stanhope mentioned the place needs airing.” An understatement if ever there was one.

They crossed the small entry hall and stepped into the drawing room. “Dear Lord!” Mama exclaimed.

Jane had never seen so much clutter in her life. A true deluge of bad taste. Gilded, overstuffed sofas, an untold number of mirrors and pictures with elaborate frames, black lacquered cabinets, statues, every sort of gewgaw imaginable ...

“Weren’t the birds outside enough?” Granny rested on her cane and gazed with amusement at the large assortment of stuffed birds, each under its own glass dome.

“With a bit of cleaning and sorting out, it will be fine.” Jane fought to keep a note of optimism in her voice.

Mama sniffed in disgust. “A
bit
of sorting out? We shall need a lot more than that. This place is a wreck, and you know it.”

Jane silently agreed. A closer look brought even more small calamities to light—pieces of the fleur-de-lis moldings had fallen and littered the floor, ugly water stains marred the pale lilac walls. Heaven only knew what else was wrong.

Mama, who tended toward the dramatic at times, pressed a forearm against a faded lilac wall, leaned her forehead against it and wailed, “This is horrible! We cannot live like this.” She turned and faced Jane with imploring eyes. “You
must
be expecting. You
must.
”

Jane didn’t have the heart to smile at her mother’s desperate words, laughable though they were. Nor could she bring herself to point out yet again the utter impossibility that she might be carrying the earl’s heir. She patted her mother’s arm. “We shall cope. As for me expecting, we will just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

When they returned to Chatfield Court, Jane found Griggs waiting for her in the entry hall. The usually stony-faced butler had an unusual gleam in his eye.

“What is it, Griggs?”

“Timothy, the stableman, was here.” Jane detected repressed excitement in his voice. “He requests your presence at the stables.”

She had not visited the stables for ages, not since ... “Do you know why he wants me?”

“It’s best if Timothy explains.”

“Very well, then.” Mildly curious, she left the house by the back entrance and headed down the path that led to the stables.
Always a pleasant walk
. She would never tire of the sight of Chatfield Court, a gem among country homes, dark and gloomy though it was. It sat atop a low-slung hill, its ancient stone walls and English Gothic chimneys nestled amidst tall oak and elm trees. A vast expanse of beautifully manicured lawn edged by rhododendrons, camellias and magnolias stretched from the rear portico, down a gentle slope, to the banks of the River Hulm. On both sides, thick growths of woods spread in either direction, all of them his lordship’s special preserve where only he could hunt. Out of sight beyond the woods and higher up stood Lancaster Hall, Lord Rennie’s estate.

The path led Jane to the stables, built close to the river around a bend and hidden from the house. Timothy O’Leary stood in the cobblestone courtyard in front.

“Hello, Timothy. How are you this fine day?” Jane meant her greeting sincerely. A sturdy Irishman somewhere in his sixties, the head stableman had a pleasant way about him, as well as a deep love of the horses he cared for.

He removed his battered hat and smiled. “‘Fine, Your Ladyship. It’s been a while since you visited the stables. Since Beauty left, I believe.”

The thought of her lost horse brought a sudden lump to her throat. Swallowing with some difficulty, she replied, “Yes, it has been a while. Griggs said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Timothy inclined his head toward the low-roofed wooden building that housed the estate’s horses. “There’s something for you inside.”

“What?”

The stableman grinned. “You had best go in and see for yourself.”

Jane stepped inside and paused, adjusting her eyes to the dim light. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the old, familiar odors of hay, alfalfa and fresh manure that brought back memories of happier times. Oh, what a beautiful smell! Only a true lover of horses could love such a smell. She started walking down the aisle between the stalls. Most were empty, the plow horses and the earl’s stallion and carriage horses having been turned out to pasture. Farther along the walkway, she saw a horse’s head poking out of the furthermost stall. Then she heard a whinny.

That whinny ... something about it ... Her hand flew to her heart. “Beauty?”

The answering whinny told her what she needed to know. With a glad cry, she picked up her skirts, ran the remaining distance to the stall and gazed for a joyous moment at the noble brown head, a perfect white star on its brow. She was looking into the soft brown eyes of her beloved horse. “I can’t believe you’re back!” She threw open the half door, flung her arms around Beauty’s neck and buried her face in her silken crest. The horse whinnied in response, causing tears to well in her eyes. She was wiping them away when Timothy appeared.

“She’s in good shape, mum. She’s been over at Lord Gamfield’s stables on the other side of the village. From the looks of her, she’s been well-treated. Lord Gamfield has the best pasture around.”

Jane patted Beauty’s sleek, well-groomed flank. “I can see that, but I thought ...” The shocking truth dawned. Arthur told her he took Beauty to London and sold her at Tattersall’s. That liar! She had assumed she would never see her horse again. All those tears shed! “She has been not five miles from here the whole time?”

“It would seem so, mum.”

She bit back angry words and remembered her manners. “How can I ever thank you? Surely money was involved and I will happily pay you—”

“Oh, no, mum. ’Twas not me what brought her back.”

“Then who?”

“’Twas that guest of Lord Rennie’s. He brought Beauty back this morning and sent me up to the house to fetch you.”

Could it be? “Do you recall his name?” She held her breath.

“Mister Douglas Cartland, I believe he said his name was. He’s the one who is building the canal for Lord Rennie.”

“How could he possibly have known where Beauty was?”

From behind came a familiar male voice. “Simple. Rennie told me. Seems he was with the earl when he made the sale to Gamfield.”

She looked over her shoulder.
Him
. Simply dressed in a white shirt open at the throat and dark breeches, he stood behind her, a crooked grin on his deeply bronzed face. “Well. Did I get it right? I would hate to think I brought the wrong horse back.”

“Yes, you did.” She withdrew her arms from around Beauty’s neck and whirled around, resisting the wild impulse to fling her arms around Douglas Cartland instead. “It’s Beauty, all right. I am overwhelmed, sir. I cannot thank you enough for bringing her back.” A horrible thought struck her. “She’s not just borrowed, is she? Tell me you don’t have to return her to Lord Gamfield.”

His hearty laugh instantly relieved her mind. “She’s here to stay. Let’s take her outside, shall we?”

“Of course.” Nothing would give her more pleasure than to see her beloved horse in the sunlight, in all her glory. Jane noted Beauty wore the same leather-tooled harness she’d bought for her years earlier, back in the days when she thought her happiness would go on forever. She clipped a lead to the harness and led her horse outside, Cartland close behind. In the courtyard, she checked Beauty over, growing more pleased by the minute as she noted the horse’s hooves were well cared for, her mane and tail free of dust and dirt. She picked up a brush and began stroking Beauty’s shining flanks. “You don’t know how much I worried about her, how I imagined all sorts of horrible ways she could have been mistreated. How can I thank you?”

Cartland stood watching her, a glow of satisfaction in his deep brown eyes. “No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.”