Stepping through a gate in the walled garden, he noted that despite his aunt’s meddling, the gardens were well-tended. Neatly trimmed lawns spanned the garden, stretching from wall to wall. Flowers of all colors edged the lawns and cut through them, dividing them into four quarters. At each corner sat a stone bench.
Once upon a time this garden had been used for entertaining, but with no children or a husband, his aunt’s days of hosting garden parties were behind her. He could almost picture visiting with his parents when he was a young boy and sitting on the lawns drinking lemonade while sneaking the occasional sip of ginger beer. His parents spent most of their time in Bath now to take the waters, and the majority of his aunt’s friends had either passed or were too old to partake in lengthy parties.
Despite her declining faculties, Aunt Jean walked at a fair pace, keeping up with Reuben’s own naturally lengthy strides with ease. Kinden House spread out in front of them, its two wings leading to a recess that housed the front door. Though one of the smaller stately homes in the Berkshire, it was no pauper’s house. His uncle had left Aunt Jean with a significant income, and the house was richly furnished with valuable works of art and antiques.
Unfortunately, it made his aunt quite the target for unscrupulous characters.
He handed over his hat to the butler and followed his aunt into her favored drawing room. A mix of sunny yellow and pale blue, the room was the smaller of the drawing rooms but more feminine and slightly cluttered with some of his aunt’s various collected items. Shells, fossils, and cracked bits of china were displayed on shelves and in the bureaus. Reuben waited until his aunt sat before sitting on the chair opposite.
“My new companion should be joining me in a few days.”
Reuben nodded. He’d been pleased when he heard the news that a companion would be joining her. He feared she got lonely, and as much as he’d like to visit more than once a week, his work kept him busy. A companion could also keep her out of mischief too. Hopefully this woman was someone plain and simple, someone who could handle the practicalities of living with a woman like his aunt.
“I imagine you are very much looking forward to it.”
“It does a woman good to be surrounded by youth you know.” She motioned to the serving girl to pour the tea then waved a hand to dismiss her.
“She is young?”
“Indeed.” His aunt nodded. “Early twenties, I believe.”
Well, he supposed that was not terrible. He was only just at the end of his twenties after all, and he had been sensible at that age. Whoever this woman was, if she had taken up such a job, she had to be the practical sort.
He frowned to himself at the sound of commotion outside. Lowering the cup of tea in his hand, he rose to peer out of the window. He could spy one of the gardeners waving his arms frantically.
“Goodness, what is that racket?” his aunt asked.
“I shall go and find out.” Reuben strode out into the garden to see Mr. Higgins, the gardener waving his hands again. “What is the problem?”
He didn’t need to wait for Mr. Higgins’ response. He traced where the gardener was looking and bellowing and grimaced. One of the stallions had escaped and was proceeding to trample and chew his way through the garden.
“Bloody animal,” cursed Mr. Higgins.
Reuben shook his head. “If you shout at him like that, he will never come to you.”
“That animal is a menace!”
“I’ll see to him. Stand back.”
Reuben edged his way toward the animal, who gave a snort of derision at his proximity. He knew Black Knight well and had ridden him many times, but the horse was as changeable as the English weather. If he wasn’t in the mood, there was no chance of putting a saddle on him. Reuben’s uncle had hoped to tame him but had passed away before he’d had the chance. If he had more time, Reuben would train him himself.
“Easy.” Reuben held up his hands. “Easy, boy.” He moved closer, acutely aware of the height of the animal. He really was an impressive beast and knew full well he could get away with bad behavior. The creature was too damned smart.
Stepping sideways, he kept his hands up, avoiding looking the animal directly in the eyes. The horse shifted closer to his aunt’s rose bushes. Reuben eyed the thorns and winced. If the horse got ensnared in those, he could do himself some damage.
Keeping his voice low and calm, Reuben kept talking to Black Knight, easing closer. The horse spared him a glance but no longer seemed bothered by his presence. He took his chance and inched even closer, laying a gentle hand on him.
“There we go,” he soothed. “Let’s not get near those thorns. You’ll do yourself some damage.”
Now the animal was calm, Reuben had a much better chance of getting him out of the garden, but he still had to maneuver him, and he wore no bridle. Keeping a gentle hand on the horse and continuing to talk softly, Reuben eased out of his jacket and slung it over the horse. He bunched it around the horse’s neck and gave a gentle tug, using it as makeshift reigns. His jacket might not be wearable again but at least Black Knight would be unharmed.
Gently, he directed the horse back to the paddock with lots of promises of treats and a vigorous ride. Once Black Knight was back in the paddock, he shook off Reuben’s jacket, flinging it into the mud.
Reuben retrieved it with a wry grin. “Thank you for that; it was my favorite.”
The horse gave him a dismissive look and moved away from him.
“I suppose that’s the thanks I get.” Reuben glanced back at his aunt’s house. At least there was one rowdy creature who would listen to him. Aunt Jean was another matter altogether. Still, once this woman arrived all would be much easier, he was certain of that.
Chapter Three
“Well, this is where we part, dear Sister.”
Angel peered out of the window of the carriage at the ramshackle house. Sizeable with tall chimneys and spread into three sections, the building was no Waverly Hall, but there was an air of old glamour to it despite its slightly neglected look. It had clearly not been updated recently, unlike her own family home that had been added to by their father and modernized many times. The gardens, however, were immaculate with neat lawns leading up to an unpretentious front door.
She glanced back at Seth, her stomach bunching, and grimaced. As pretty as the house was, it did not make her forget the reason she was here.
She had to work.
Two whole months of being a lady’s companion to a Mrs. Stone. Angel could not recall ever meeting any Mr. or Mrs. Stones so she hardly knew what to expect.
She leaned a little farther out of the open window and looked from left to right. That one look confirmed it. They were in the countryside—utterly isolated, away from any entertainment or interesting people. Worst of all, away from the Duke of Norwick. Just a few more weeks of flirtation and she was certain the handsome man would look to seek her hand. With all this time away from Town, he would surely be preyed upon by some other woman, and he would forget all about her!
“Angel, you cannot put it off any longer.”
She shot her brother a look. “While I appreciate you escorting me, Seth, you are a fine one to talk. Do you not have your own task to see to?”
He waved a hand. “My task is easy. I have plenty of time.”
“Time to ensure you have seduced every woman in London first no doubt,” Angel said dryly.
Seth’s task was the easiest, though. All he had to do was find himself a wife within the two months. So long as he had proposed and the lady had accepted, his terms would be fulfilled. With his dashing looks and charming manners, Angel doubted he would have any troubles.
Oh, why could that not have been her task? For some reason, Grandpapa thought it necessary that she learn the value of hard work. What nonsense it was. She understood arduous work. Did he not realize that being a vital member of the ton was exceedingly demanding? And trying to get the elusive Duke of Norwick to pay attention to her and only her was e
ven tougher work.
A footman pulled open the door, and Angel let out a sigh weighted with regret that she felt all the way down to her slippered feet. Seth gave her arm a little shove, and Angel narrowed her gaze at him.
“I am going, I am going. Be patient.” She pursed her lips and tweaked the sleeves of her velvet spencer jacket, aware of Seth’s gaze upon her. “I am,” she insisted. “I just need a moment to gather myself. I fear this is going to be the most frightfully dull two months of my life.”
Seth took her hands in his and grinned. “I have no doubt you will fill these two months with as much fun as you can muster, just as you always do. Fun always follows Lady Angel Templeton, everyone knows that.” He squeezed her hands. “Now, let us meet these challenges head-on, get our inheritance, and show our family that we can rise to these trials.” Seth released her hands and set her with a grave look. “And let us not fail, or else the God-awful Mr. Hastings will get everything that he does not deserve and Theo will likely disown us after we have fulfilled his every doubt about his most demanding siblings.”
Her lips quirked. “That was surprisingly rousing. You should do battle speeches.”
“Now go, dear Sister, before I am forced to fling you from this vehicle.”
Angel leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Choose well, Brother. You will be shackled to one woman for the rest of your life before long.”
“Worry about yourself, Angel.”
Stepping out of the door and down the step, Angel accepted her travel bag from the footman and gave her brother one last glance before straightening her shoulders and making her way down the graveled path toward this Kinden House. Tucked in the depths of Berkshire with nary a jot of entertainment to be found, she had to wonder what sort of a lady lived here. No one of consequence presumably, or else she would be in London at this time of the year.
With any luck, the lady she was to accompany was someone old and quiet who slept a lot. Perhaps it would even be good for Angel. She could do something…relaxing. Read a book perhaps. Or whatever it was the people did to pass the time when not dancing or gossiping with friends. She scowled. If only she’d asked Minerva what one did to pass time in the peace and quiet. Her sister was quite the expert on such matters, preferring to bury her head in a book than spend time with people.
Behind her, the carriage wheels rattled away. She didn’t look back. If she did, she feared she might dash after it and beg Seth to take her back to London.
She took in a long breath scented with lavender and that sort of fresh quality that one did not notice existed until outside of London. Eyes closed, she tightened her grip on the travelling bag and nodded to herself. Perhaps Grandpapa did know what was good for her after all. A little time in the fresh air would do wonders for her complexion, and how much harm could some time away from the smog and noise of London really do? By the time she had returned, she would have a sizable inheritance and be fully ready to tackle the problem that was the reticent Duke of Norwick.
Yes. She let her lips curve. This would be excellent actually. She could get in touch with nature and go for rambling walks across hills and—
“Yoo hoo!”
Snapping open her eyes, she peered in the direction of the voice. Her gaze fixed upon a lady standing in front of an easel, paintbrush in hand. Tucked between two large bushes, the elderly lady appeared fragile in comparison, but her bright smile belied her appearance.
Angel hastened forward. “Oh, good afternoon. Are you Mrs. Stone?” She slowed her steps as she took in the lady’s appearance.
Though wearing a beautiful printed gown edged in delicate lacework, the lady’s head was uncovered and her hair wild about her face. A pointed lace collar rose about her neck and was smeared with red paint, creating a grisly image. Similar streaks of varying colors spoiled the delicate printed flowers of the dress.
The lady waved a paintbrush at her, sending splatters of paint in Angel’s direction. She ducked them, mouth agape.
Mrs. Stone smiled broadly. “Do you like to paint?”
“Well, I—”
“I certainly hope so. It is a fine talent for young ladies to have, and there is nothing more charming than watching a beautiful young lady painting.” Mrs. Stone unfurled a hand and beckoned to her.
Angel placed her fingers in hers and allowed herself to be tugged over to view the painting. “Oh.” Angel tilted her head to eye the painting. “It is—”
“Yes, yes. It is excellent.” Mrs. Stone waved a hand, sending more paint splatters about. Several plopped onto Angel’s lemon-yellow gown. The lady did not seem to notice nor care. “But tell me what do you see?”
Scowling, Angel studied the floral composition and compared it to the flowers in front of the easel. Mrs. Stone had used unusual colors, instead of replicating exactly what was in front of her, and there was something even more odd about it—as though each petal and stem was out of place and yet exactly in the right place.
“I see…um…distorted beauty..?” She swung a questioning glance at Mrs. Stone.
Mrs. Stone chuckled. “It’s flowers, dear.”
“Well, yes, of course.” Angel felt heat tinge her cheeks. “But, er…”
“Are you any good at painting, dear?” Mrs. Stone peered at her through a narrowed gaze, her faded blue eyes sparking bright for a brief moment of curiosity.
Pursing her lips, Angel shook her head. “I am afraid to say, I am not. My mother despaired at my lack of talent as a girl.”
“You must have had a terrible teacher.”
Angel thought back to poor Miss Hill who struggled to handle Angel and Minerva. Though Minerva was not deliberately ill-behaved, she preferred reading to taking lessons and could be hideously precocious as a child. She had grown out of being precocious for the most part, but her sister still adored books over anything else.
As for herself, well, she found it hard to stay still for long at all. After all, there were so many things in life to entertain. Who in their right mind should wish to remain cloistered in a single room, reading from books and attempting to paint a still life from a dull arrangement of flowers when there were so many other things to do?
“I think she tried her best.” Angel shrugged. “Perhaps I am unteachable.”
Mrs. Stone made a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. “No one is unteachable. After all, art is in the eye of the beholder. You see distortion. I see the wildness of this earth, demonstrated in this fusion of color.”
The old lady waved a hand back and forth, and more paint flecked from the brush. Angel blinked when one wet splotch landed on her cheek, but she had no chance to rub it off as Mrs. Stone thrust the paint brush into her hand.
“Do not think of the rules.” Mrs. Stone picked up a blank canvas and switched it with the painting of flowers.
Angel grimaced at the expanse of empty paper then looked to Mrs. Stone, whose expression brokered little argument. This old lady was going to be harder to look after than Angel thought. She’d anticipated a tiny, wrinkled old prune of a thing who would not be able to leave her bed and Angel would be forced to spoon feed her soup or play endless games of whist.
Well, Mrs. Stone was certainly wrinkled. And she was tiny. But liveliness governed her movements, even if they were stiff on occasion, and passion sparked in her eyes.
“Paint with your heart.” Mrs. Stone pressed a boney hand over the organ in question. “Forget what governesses have said, what books have taught you. Paint with abandon, for there is no other way to live life.”
Angel would have taken the time to agree with her new charge but a persistent hand to her back urged her forward, and the brush struck the paper before she was ready, leaving a thick blue mark in one corner.
“There, that is an excellent starting point. Just remember, nothing in art is wrong,” Mrs. Stone informed her.
Swallowing, Angel lifted her gaze to the flowers in front then dropped it back to the seemingly endless blank space in front of her.
“I—”
“Paint,” Mrs. Stone urged.
There was no escaping this, it seemed. For an old lady, Mrs. Stone was persistent. These two months were going to be quite a bit different to what she imagined.
Angel stared at the flowers for a while, taking in the curves and points. Then she glanced at Mrs. Stone’s artwork, lying flat on the grass. Taking a breath, she painted her first deliberate stroke, curving the color, despite the fact it did not match a single color in front of her.
She continued in this manner, layering in colors and using bold sweeps whilst trying to ignore the voice of Miss Hill that kept echoing in her mind and reminding her how little discipline she had and how she would never be an accomplished lady.
Well, Miss Hill, just look at me now.
By the time she’d be finished, she’d be practically a master. The bold splashes of color merged to form a wonderful riot of flowers. Goodness, Angel could practically feel the creativity surging from her fingertips. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Mrs. Stone nodding with approval. Angel grinned.
“You know—” Angel paused when movement flickered in the corner of her eye. Paintbrush still raised, she twisted to view the approaching man.
Moving with long, confident strides across the lawns, even from a distance, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in his tall body was evident. She could not see his features properly under his hat but she was no stranger to men—after all, she was a marquis’s sister. Since even before her coming out ball, men had flirted with her, and the fact she was not hideous to look at certainly helped.
And that experience told her that this was a strong, likely attractive man. Her stomach told her of this too. It did an odd swoop, and a tingle raced through her limbs as the newcomer moved closer. She gripped the paintbrush so as not to press a hand to her chest while her breaths grew a little ragged.
There Are Plenty More Dukes in the Sea (The Inheritance Clause Book 1) Page 2