“Perhaps he has a reason to be.”
His words gave her pause. Did Robert have a reason to be on his high ropes most of the time? She recalled quite swiftly to mind just how many of his family inhabited Aldershaw and she rather thought she had her answer.
“I fear his family is become a trying lot. All live beneath his roof, including his stepmama. I believe my arrival may have been the last straw.”
“He has great responsibilities, then?”
“Innumerable. However, I do not give a fig whether he should have one or a thousand! A gentleman ought to be polite regardless of his mood.”
“Indeed he should,” Mr. Frome agreed readily. He looked about him. “Whatever do you mean to do with this orchard? I have not seen anything so ill-kempt in many a year.” His camp overlooked the northern reaches of the orchard.
“You are very right.” She sipped the excellent, mild coffee again. “From nearly the moment I arrived, I had the most outrageous notion of taking the gardens in hand, but would not that be wholly impertinent? For I am merely Sir Robert’s ward. I am not even a real cousin, though they call me ‘cousin’ nonetheless. I have no right to interfere in the least.”
“Yet there is a sparkle in your eye,” he said teasingly, leveling his cup at her.
“That is the difficulty, I suppose. I never could resist a challenge.”
“What fault is there in that?” he asked.
“I see we take a similar view of things.” She regarded him carefully. She was smiling now. What was there not to like in this old man? She glanced at his domicile, noting that the caravan was painted with an idyllic scene and quite realistic: ewes and lambs, fields enclosed by dry stone walls, the roll of the downs, a stand of trees, even a brook.
“Did you paint this yourself?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“The sky is so real. It is almost as though I can see through your wagon. And you live here?”
“I have for forty years.”
She was quite surprised. “Since you were a young man, then? But you spoke of your wife—” She regretted her words.
“You cannot offend me by asking of her or of my dear children. Yes, I had a family once. How I loved them, but the pox took them from me.”
“I am so sorry.”
Lucy glanced about, becoming more and more intrigued by the old man. She noted his chair, the old cups, the small stone ring he used for his fires, the stones as black as ink. She could only wonder of all the places he had lived and seen.
“So, tell me of your relationship with Sir Robert.”
She sighed heavily, for the very nature of the question brought many pressing aspects of her life to the forefront of her mind. “He is my guardian.”
Mr. Frome seemed greatly surprised. “A young lady your age hardly needs a guardian.”
“I told Papa as much, but he was insistent.”
“I see,” he murmured softly. “He was a stubborn man, your father?”
“Nearly as stubborn as myself.”
“He is recently passed?”
She nodded and sipped her coffee again, for a very large and painful lump had formed in her throat. “A year ago, but it seems little more than a day.”
“I understand. Completely. And you have no other family?”
“No. That is, I have an aunt who resides in London, but I have never seen her, although I was told she held me once just after I was born. Sir Robert’s father and mine were great friends. That is how we know one another. Our fathers had hoped we would make a match of it one day, but how could they have known just how ill-suited we are?”
“Fathers generally have the best of intentions, but they certainly cannot predict the path of the heart. Do I take it then that you are in love with someone else?”
Lucy shook her head and sighed. “Not at present. I did love once, but his father did not approve of me and my betrothed, Mr. Goodworth, married another lady.”
“And his father approved of her?”
At that Lucy burst out laughing, yet her heart hurt all over again at the memory of it. “Therein lies the rub. After telling me countless times all the ways his father disapproved of me, I finally broke off our engagement, after which Mr. Goodworth took to wife the most worthless creature! She was the daughter of a farmer and his father was a viscount!”
“That is a very sad tale,” he cried, “but it sounds as though he was determined to punish his father for having been unkind to you.”
“I suppose he was.”
“It is not a bad thing, however, to have known love,” he said softly, sipping his coffee, “even when nothing comes of it.”
“I have many tender memories of Mr. Goodworth.”
“As you should.”
Lucy let her gaze drift over the gardens, at least as much as was visible from the edge of the home wood. Because the wood was on a rise, she could see the tips of many shrubs and hedges that delineated various parts of the garden.
Ridiculous, vulgar, interfering.
Robert’s words came back to her with the force of a blade to her heart.
“I would not rely overly much on Sir Robert’s manners at present,” Mr. Frome said, as though reading her mind. “If his house is as crowded as you say, then I daresay he is not entirely himself.”
Lucy found that Mr. Frome’s conversation had soothed her wounded sensibilities exceedingly.
“Lucy!”
Lucy lifted her head and could see that Alice was calling to her from across the stream.
“Nuncheon is served!”
“Oh, dear,” she said, rising swiftly from her stool. “I believe I may have kept everyone waiting.” She handed her cup to Mr. Frome, thanking him for his many kindnesses. She then hurried to return to the house.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nuncheon was a difficult affair in which only the eldest of Aldershaw’s inmates were permitted to partake. Eugenia, Hyacinth, William, and Violet all took their meals with Miss Gunville in the schoolroom. Anne and Alice, nearly out, were required to dine with the family.
Henry was absent as he said he would be, George appeared to be sunk in a fit of the megrims, and Robert’s expression could only be described as one of painful forbearance.
Lucy’s mind was taken up primarily with her conversation with Mr. Frome and so it was that she made her inward peace with Robert, though she said nothing to him, setting down his unhappy conduct as having its source in the various difficulties at Aldershaw.
She ate her cold chicken, beef, and salad slowly. Conversation languished. Lady Sandifort sat at the foot of the table, undoubtedly having retained the position even after her husband’s death, and ate heartily of her meal. She drank a great deal of champagne, which Lucy thought quite odd and which was served exclusively to her. She watched everyone with careful eyes but generally seemed to be enjoying herself hugely. Hetty, being the eldest, sat in the center of the table opposite Rosamunde. The latter pushed her food about on her plate. She appeared as one who had the headache. George, seated next to her, ignored her entirely.
The twins, nearest to Lady Sandifort, flanked her and were fairly silent throughout the entire meal, except when addressed by their stepmother. Their responses remained monosyllabic.
Hetty, at least, made an attempt to converse and asked Lucy many things about Somerset. Lucy was happy to talk about the county she had called home for the entirety of her life and spoke at length.
“Hetty,” Lady Sandifort called out. “I see you at least have the proper manners to entertain our new guest as ought to be done. What a sad lack of civility in the rest of you!” She trilled her laughter and swilled her champagne.
Lucy, having taken her measure, was not especially surprised. George, however, shot dagger glances in her direction while Hetty stiffened instantly and speared her chicken more forcefully than necessary.
“My head hurts,” Rosamunde said.
“Your head always pains you,” Lady Sandifort said.
“It was not used to pain me. I never suffered in this way at Baddesley.”
“Why must you always be praising Baddesley to the skies? You sound as though you are not grateful to Sir Robert for providing a home for you.”
“I have a home,” she answered dully.
“Lady Sandifort,” Hetty called out suddenly, “Anne and Alice were wondering if you had finally decided on the date for their come-out ball. Will it be in late August or early September?”
Lucy saw a darkness descend over Lady Sandifort’s exquisite features, her gaze shifting strangely to Robert for the barest moment. She lifted an imperious brow. How much her beauty seemed to fade in these few seconds. Only after meeting Robert’s gaze did she turn to address Hetty. “I have decided, given the general lack of maturity in your full-blood sisters, that they ought to wait another year for their ball. Look at them. Both as silent as the grave! They are not ready to be in company.”
Hetty gasped.
George cried, “What the deuce!”
Robert frowned at his stepmother. “But this is absurd,” he said. “And all because . . . but this is absurd!”
Lady Sandifort merely smiled as one impervious to their complaints.
Lucy glanced at Anne, whose complexion first turned a pretty shade of chalk and then a violent crimson. At the same time, she rose abruptly from her seat, and the chair fell backward with a loud cracking sound on the planked wood floor. “You would not do this to me!” she cried. “How could you be so cruel when you must know how much I have been waiting, indeed, longing for my come-out ball?”
Lady Sandifort gestured to the chair on the floor as if to say that Anne had just proven her point. “Sit down,” she stated firmly.
Lucy watched Anne debate within her mind just what she ought to do. For a moment, she thought Anne would do as she was bid, but finally she lifted her chin and said, “I do not like you, Lady Sandifort, I never have. You are very mean, perhaps one of the meanest females I have ever known. Were it not for my youngest brother and sisters, I should have detested that my father ever married you!”
“Anne!” Robert called out, obviously horrified.
But Anne was beyond reason. She burst into tears and fled the room. Alice rose as well. “You know I do not give a fig if there is a come-out ball, but I do not understand how you could hurt Anne so much as you just have. What did she ever do to you?”
“Well, for one thing, Alice, if you may recall, she put three large spiders in my bed when I first came to Aldershaw.”
George snorted his laughter and received a glare from Lady Sandifort in return.
Alice continued. “But she was ten years old then. She was a child.”
“She did it again just last year, so pray do not try to defend her. As for you, do not even think I shall permit you to take your trip to Cornwall in the fall. Perhaps next year, if your conduct toward me has improved as well, or did you think I believed the nasty letters I received all last year were not of your hand? You have a very specific manner of drawing your Ts, unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”
Alice’s face blanched. There was nothing more she could say. With some great effort at dignity, she lifted her chin. “You deserved every word.”
“Neither you nor Anne may sit down to dinner for the next fortnight or I shall have you locked up in one of the attic bedchambers.”
Alice walked away.
Lucy glanced at Robert to see what he meant, if anything, to do about the situation, but he had grown very quiet. He frowned heavily, staring at the silver epergne in the middle of the table.
“A delightful meal as always,” George announced as Lady Sandifort finished her third glass of champagne.
Rosamunde addressed her husband. “I wish to see Baddesley. Please take me there, George. I do not care in the least if the repairs are not yet completed.”
This sudden turn of conversation brought all eyes trained upon George. He grew uneasy. “You know I cannot do so. The last time I was there part of the roof was open to the sky. It is not fit to be inhabited.”
Lady Sandifort laughed heartily. “How you do tell your whiskers, George!”
George’s face turned bright red and he ground his teeth.
Rosamunde began to weep loudly.
Lucy found she could eat nothing more.
George rose and fairly threw back his chair so that now two of them were reclining on the floor. He stomped from the chamber and was gone.
Hetty moved to console Rosamunde, taking her arm and lifting her from her chair. “Come, dearest, let me take you back to your room. I shall have some tea brought to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, please do take her away,” Lady Sandifort said, laughing. “She is always a watering pot and I cannot bear sniveling creatures that weep and pout incessantly.”
Hetty cast a hate-filled glance at her, but Lady Sandifort merely laughed anew.
She addressed Lucy. “See what a happy house you have come to? Charming, is it not? But do not think, Miss Stiles, that I have not made a push to improve things. I have. I have recommended to Robert a score of times to be rid of his brothers and certainly Hetty could find employment as a governess or something since she has no intention of marrying. But he refuses to take my suggestions.”
Lucy glanced at Robert to see how he received her comments, but he remained silent, meeting her ladyship’s gaze but briefly, and directed Finkley to right the fallen chairs.
Lady Sandifort, made content by her champagne, however, did not seem to require anyone to speak. Sipping at her fourth glass of bubbling wine, she began to enumerate all the ways she had attempted to be of use at Aldershaw, but how all her efforts went completely unappreciated. She knew she was right about forcing the twins to wait another year for a come-out ball, for did Lucy not notice their behavior even today? How could such improperly behaved young ladies be set loose upon the world?
At last, after another glass of champagne and perhaps a thousand words more on the subject of how ill-used she had been, Lady Sandifort rose unsteadily to her feet. The butler, seeing she was about to capsize, caught her by the elbow and set her upright.
A moment later, Lucy found herself alone with Robert. She might have attempted to converse with him, but he rose suddenly to his feet. “You will excuse me, Lucy, but I have a great deal of estate business to attend to this afternoon. I will stay, however, if you wish for it.”
She could see that he was greatly overset. “Pray do not concern yourself,” she said briskly. “Of course you must tend to business. There can be nothing more important at present, after all.”
He glanced at her and hesitated. Finally, he said, “I hope you are not too discouraged by what you have witnessed today. All will be well, I am certain of it.”
“How?” she inquired simply. “How will all be well?”
“There are matters that must be . . . resolved.”
“What matters?” She felt certain he had not a single solution in mind for the troubles at Aldershaw.
“I wish you would trust me but a little,” he snapped.
“And I wish you would trust me,” she cried.
He ground his teeth as George had, offered her a polite bow, then quit the room.
She was alone now. She looked down at her partially consumed meal, cut a slice of beef, and began to eat. She had the strong impression that she would be in great need of such sustenance over the coming weeks.
After nuncheon, Lucy went to her bedchamber and remained there for a very long time. The sole and quite overworked upper maid had unpacked her trunks in an understandably hasty manner. She therefore set about to rearrange the wardrobe and the highboy more to her liking but with the stronger purpose of letting her hands be busy while she engaged her heart and her mind in trying to determine just what, if anything, she could do about the disaster that was Aldershaw.
More than once she moved to the window of her bedchamber and looked out over the sad garden, thinking how difficult and long was the climb to create something of beauty but how swiftly any endeavor could be destroyed. Plants themselves were a mystery that they did not seem to know proper boundaries all by themselves, so that left to grow wild many trees and shrubs would be positively mangled by late season winds and storms.
The garden appeared as though each plant had been at war with its neighbor from the time of taking root in the soil.
With such thoughts she moved from wardrobe to window to chest of drawers and back, her mind trying to find its way through the tangle of feelings, conduct, and relationships that existed beneath Aldershaw’s ancient roof. She glanced about her chamber and chuckled, wondering just how many people had lived, laughed, perhaps even died in this very room over the two centuries the house had been in existence. Were there any ghosts present to laugh or scorn her current thoughts and even intentions?
Only what were her intentions, she wondered as she rolled up a pair of silk stockings and placed them in a drawer with a dozen other such mates. She had an equal number of garters. She particularly enjoyed embroidering small strips of fabric to create her garters. For the barest moment she wished that the embroidering of garters was her only concern.
Only what to do about Aldershaw? Poor Anne and Alice and their dreams, and what of Rosamunde and her need to return to her home, and what of George’s pricklish, even moody, conduct? And above all, what was to be done about Lady Sandifort? What
could
be done about her? That was the true conundrum. Lady Sandifort held sway, but how could one dethrone her without injuring Anne and Alice further? Given all the circumstances of the house, she understood now that hurting the young ladies was her primary weapon in any given situation. She wondered what had occurred that might have caused Lady Sandifort to refuse the come-out ball. Now there was the real question, for she doubted her ladyship did anything without either believing herself provoked or without a purpose in mind. She recalled the manner in which Lady Sandifort had given Robert a rather profound look, the haughty lifting of her brow. There had been a message in that glance, but what had it meant? She could not imagine.
Later that evening she sought out Robert in the library, where she found him alone reading a book. She wanted to ask him if what she suspected about Lady Sandifort was true, that something had happened to prompt her refusal. “I know the day has been long and full of trials, but there is something I would ask you.”
He seemed very tired. She knew he had been on horseback for most of the afternoon. “What would that be?”
“Only this. Did Lady Sandifort’s sudden cancellation of the come-out ball have its root in some injury she believed she had received, I mean other than spiders and anonymous letters?”
He sighed heavily and impatiently. “I told you not to concern yourself.”
“Very well.” She was unwilling to overset him further. Besides, she knew that time would bring an answer even if Robert would not. “I shall bid you good night. I do not mean to trouble you.”
She moved as if to go, but he called after her. “And yet you do trouble me, exceedingly.”
She turned back to him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You trouble me, Lucy. I fear you mean to involve yourself and I wish you would not.”
She stared at him for a long moment. So many things came to mind that she wanted to say, most of which for the purpose of defending her position, but she could see in his fatigue there would be no point in a discussion. They would merely fall to brangling again. Therefore, she smiled. “Good night, Robert.”