“Thank you, Mr Standish.” She said and treated him to her warmest of smiles before she turned to hurry down the stone steps.
She was brought up short almost immediately by two women approaching. They had clearly just climbed out of the carriage which still sat at the front of the hall and Anabelle smiled shyly at them both as their paths crossed.
The older and plainer of the two women smiled back a little uncertainly, as if she would not wish her companion to see it. But the younger woman, a rather richly dressed and slightly overdone young lady, stared at her openly without the benefit of a smile at all.
The young woman had bright, shiny blonde hair, perfectly curled into ringlets and neatly put up. She wore a very fine gown in ivory with a delicate pattern of pale blue dots on it. She wore a Spencer jacket in the richest velvet and of the deepest blue and a bonnet which matched it perfectly.
She had a haughty air and a small, pretty face. She reminded Anabelle of a little doll she’d had as a child. A doll with a soft body, smart little clothes, and an unmoving porcelain face. But whereas the doll’s face had been covered in the tiniest hairline cracks, there was not a blemish anywhere on the skin of the pretty young woman who seemed almost to scowl at her.
There was nothing for it but for Anabelle to continue on her way, deciding not to wonder who the woman was, nor worry about her unsettling and determinedly unfriendly countenance.
But as she made her way out in the direction of the nearest lake, Anabelle realised that the young woman might well be a guest of the Duke.
As far as she was aware, nobody in society knew of Lucy’s condition except that it was reported to be physical in nature. Surely the two young women were not visiting her, that being the case.
For reasons she decided it would be best not to explore, Anabelle felt a heaviness in her heart when she realised that one of the young ladies, undoubtedly the pretty, haughty one, was a particular friend of Giles Saville.
“Miss Constance Newfield and Miss Emma Longton, Your Grace.” The Butler said when he opened the drawing room door and stood back for the two ladies to enter.
“Good afternoon, Miss Newfield. How very nice to see you.” Giles said in what he hoped was a warm and welcoming manner. “And Miss Longton, I am very pleased to meet you.” He said to the young woman he had never seen before.
“I am pleased to meet you too, Your Grace.” The young woman said and dipped her head so well that she almost curtsied.
So, she was either a paid companion or a member of the household staff who had been designated to chaperone Constance Newfield.
And, as his invited guest gave the young woman a look of irritation, he was certain that Miss Emma Longton was not going to be greatly included in their conversation.
“My father regrets that he has not been able to disentangle himself from that prior engagement so that he might be here today. He was greatly looking forward to coming out here to Westward Hall, Your Grace.” Constance said, brushing past her companion and standing with her back to her.
“These things cannot be helped, Miss Newfield. I am sure there will be plenty of other opportunities for your father to come out here.” He said, trying hard not to think about how that would really make him feel. “Do come in and sit down.” He said, turning to aim his comment as much at Miss Longton as Miss Newfield.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Constance said with a confident smile as she took a seat at the far end of one of the couches.
She turned to give Miss Longton an icy stare and the young woman perched at the opposite end of the couch, seemingly isolating herself from her company.
Giles could do no other than take the nearest armchair to Constance, even though his rebellious heart had almost forced him to take a seat at the other end so that he might be nearer to her chaperone.
But of course, such an act would not cause him any hardship at all, but rather the poor young woman who would undoubtedly suffer for his actions at a later hour. And so, he felt himself maneuvered, nothing but a pawn on the chess board of Constance Newfield’s perfect life.
“I must say, Your Grace, that I found the entrance hall here at Westward so breathtaking. The stonework and the flooring are so fine.” Constance enthused.
“Thank you, Miss Newfield. I suppose I am guilty of being too familiar with my surroundings. Familiarity does, I believe, dull one’s senses until they forget what they truly have.”
“Perhaps so, Your Grace. But I am sure that I would never tire of such beauty.” She said unnecessarily.
Giles was certain that he did not need reminding that the young woman in front of him would be extraordinarily keen to take on the role of Duchess of Westward. And he was equally certain that the beauty of the entrance hall would very quickly pale into insignificance for such an ambitious and inattentive creature.
“Do you have relatives staying currently, Your Grace?”
“Relatives? Other than my sister, no.” He said uncertainly.
“It is just that I passed a young woman on my way in here. Fair-haired and rather tall.” She tilted her head to one side so that her neat little ringlets swung this way and that, entirely by design.
“Oh, no, that is my sisters’ companion. That is Miss Anabelle Brock.” He said, realizing that Anabelle must have been taking her afternoon walk.
How glad he was of Mrs Arklow who was always attentive to such things. He would not have thought of it and the poor young woman would have felt herself a prisoner in the end.
But with Mrs Arklow keeping her eye on everything, it was all working out now as far as he could see.
“I did not know your sister had a companion.” Constance said in a tone which was caught somewhere between genuine inquisitiveness and a little annoyance.
Perhaps she already thought herself a part of the scenery at Westward, even though it was but her first visit. Was the young woman so confident that she would get what she wanted that she might already make her presence felt in the day-to-day running of things?
If only Giles could like her just a little bit. Not enough to love her, that would never do, but just enough that he didn’t find himself churned with annoyance for the woman.
“Miss Brock has been here for just a few weeks, Miss Newfield. Lucy has been unwell now for some time, as you know, and I thought a companion might be just the thing to help her.” He begrudgingly explained, knowing that it was necessary.
He could not show his annoyance, he could not do anything to give himself away. He could not do anything to give Lucy away.
“So, she is a paid companion, Your Grace?” Constance persisted, clearly forgetting every ounce of her alleged breeding.
“Indeed.” He said in a long, slow outward breath designed to highlight her impertinence.
However, it very quickly became clear that Constance, whilst confident and even rather clever, was not the sort of woman to pick up on such subtleties.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I am just a little surprised. I regret to inform you that the woman has just left the house through the main door.”
“Good, then she did not climb out of the window this time.” He said and laughed, despite his annoyance.
“I do not mean to get the poor thing into trouble, you understand, for she likely does not realize her place.” Constance went on as if he had not spoken at all.
“Forgive me, Miss Newfield, but Miss Brock is free to come and go through the front door of Westward Hall.” He knew what she was trying to say but he was not going to make it easy for her.
If Constance Newfield wanted to criticize his arrangements, then let her do it out loud. He would not answer simple insinuations.
“But should she not come and go via the servants’ entrance?” Constance finally realised that she was on shaky ground, and not a moment too soon.
“She is not a servant, Miss Newfield.” Giles said and knew that the annoyance in his voice was unmistakable.
And he did not waste any time regretting it. It was not m
erely that Constance Newfield had no business interfering in the running of the Duchy or any of its buildings, but also because Giles was answering an instinct to defend Anabelle.
He could hardly explain to the vain and spoiled young woman sitting before him, coyly turning her head this way and that to best show off her golden ringlets, what a relief it had been to welcome Anabelle into his home.
He could not tell her that the bright young woman had come closer to drawing Lucy out of her torment than anybody thus far. And he most certainly could not tell Constance Newfield, the woman he had planned, and still planned, to marry, of his growing regard for the essentially homeless woman who had only come to him to escape the evil intentions of her cousin.
Instead, he smiled and changed the subject.
Chapter Eleven
Some days later, Anabelle was surprised by an afternoon visit from Lucy’s maid, Miriam.
“Lucy, I feel as if I haven’t seen you for days.” Miriam, who used to spend so much time with Lucy, smiled warmly as she entered the room. “I have come to be with you for a little while. I thought I might curl your hair for you and see if it brightens your mood any.”
Lucy looked pleased to see Miriam and it was clear that the maid cared for her mistress greatly. Anabelle could see how the woman struggled not to address her mistress formally as she had always done and yet she was determined to carry out the Duke’s instructions to the letter.
“We shall only be next door, Lucy. I am going to have a nice cup of tea with Anabelle.” Mrs Arklow said and Anabelle, unaware of the little plan, smiled with some confusion.
“Yes, we shall only be next door and I will be back in a little while.” Anabelle played along and was pleased to see that Lucy’s attention was already taken by the rags that Miriam was setting out ready to tie up her mistress’ hair.
“Is something wrong, Mrs Arklow?” Anabelle said with concern the moment the two women were alone in her room.
A tea tray had already been laid out on the table that the housekeeper had so kindly arranged for her when she had first arrived. Anabelle could never sit at the table without feeling that little flash of warmth, that stirring of gratitude, at Mrs Arklow’s thoughtfulness.
“Nothing is wrong at all, my dear. I thought that it would be nice to stop for a while and have some tea together. His Grace is out for the afternoon at a garden party and he will not be needing anything for a while. So, whilst the cat is away, the mouse has decided to take a little break.” She smiled mischievously, and Anabelle laughed.
“Oh, what a wonderful idea.” Anabelle said and settled down more comfortably now that her concerns had been addressed. “It seems like rather a cool day for a garden party.” She went on, hoping to discover where it was the Duke had gone.
“Lord Watford holds a late garden party every year. I believe it is to bid farewell to the Summer, although this being England, Summer is usually over before it is halfway through.”
“Quite so.” Anabelle said, amused by Mrs Arklow and glad for her company for a while.
To get a little break every day, to be able to sit and talk without worrying that she was going to upset her conversational partner quite by accident, was a rare treat. She adored Lucy, truly cared for her, but she sometimes found herself a little lonely, a little starved for the conversation that she would ordinarily conduct with a woman of Lucy’s age.
“But I suppose, like so much in society, Lord Watford’s late garden party is something of a tradition. Though I must admit, I do not think that His Grace was particularly excited by the prospect. But he takes his responsibilities seriously and generally accepts invitations where he can. Although it has been a little difficult for him of late, naturally.”
“Yes, I daresay he does not like to leave Westward Hall for long.”
“Exactly, Miss Brock. I do believe that he worries about Lucy the entire time. But I am bound to say that he is a little easier in his nature these last weeks. You have certainly made a difference here.”
“I do hope so, although I am sure that you and Miriam worked wonders with Lady Lucy before I even arrived.”
“Do not worry, my dear, your success would do nothing to offend me. I wish for, nay, I pray for it. Anything to make Lucy better. And it is good for her to have somebody of her own age. I know you are a few years older and clearly a woman, Miss Brock, but with His Grace being so much older than his sister and me as old as granite, the poor child has suffered a little for company.”
“I suppose she is necessarily isolated from her friends.”
“She did not truly have very many friends before. His Grace has always protected her, always weeding out the ones who simply want to be aligned to the Duchy. He wanted his sister always to have real friends, people who cared for her, never allowing social climbers to worm their way into her heart. She has always been such a tender soul, you see, that she would believe anyone to be genuine.”
“Yes, her sweetness shines through even now.”
“She is such a quiet girl and always has been and she is so rarely out in society as it is. His Grace was just introducing her to the world, really, when tragedy struck again.” Mrs Arklow looked sad, her pale eyes a little watery and the lines on her face seeming just a little deeper. “Perhaps it is a good thing that she did not have many close friends. There is nobody to try to get here to see her, to ask awkward questions.”
“Nobody knows at all, do they?”
“As far as the world outside this window is concerned, the Duke’s sister suffers from general ill-health. She is currently bedridden and in the care of a physician.”
“But there is no physician, Mrs Arklow.” Anabelle said, wondering if she was wandering onto dangerous ground. “Has no man of medicine looked at her at all?”
“Oh yes, the doctor who has served the Duchy for many years has visited Lucy on a number of occasions. But there was a little parting of the ways between His Grace and the doctor, given that the doctor had suggested a course of treatment that would be ordinarily administered within the walls of an asylum.”
“Oh no.” Anabelle said and instinctively raised a hand to her heart. “I cannot imagine that that would help.”
“I have never been in such a place, Miss Brock, but I can only imagine. One hears such tales of places like The Bedlam and cannot think that there are gentler, kinder, more enlightened places. I daresay that is what His Grace has in his mind too. A place of nightmares.”
“Has the doctor given no instruction or ideas on how we might reach Lucy?”
“Only to keep her calm, to build up her strength, to avoid loud noises and unnecessary shocks.” Mrs Arklow laughed mirthlessly. “But that is very general advice, is it not? It sounds like something he might say to me after a bout of influenza.”
“Indeed, it does not sound particularly helpful.”
“You do seem to be getting through to her.” Mrs Arklow finally poured the tea. “Here, before it gets cold.” She nodded at Anabelle’s cup and she lifted it obediently.
“Thank you.” Anabelle said after her first sip.
“She seems to be trying to tell you something.” Mrs Arklow went on.
“She does, although I cannot get anywhere with it. I am certain now that I should never take her out in the sunshine and that there is some link to a bright sunny day and something that she has suffered. And on occasion, she talks as if her sister is still alive. It does not last long for she quickly remembers that her sister is no longer here, and it upsets her so greatly. It is horrible to see, such a renewal of grief.”
“Does she say anything else which gives you pause for thought, my dear?”
“She did once say that there was a man, he seems to be in her head. She told me that he frightens her, and she wishes that he would go away.” Anabelle said, remembering the awful moment when she first saw Lucy hit her own forehead. “She taps and taps at her head as if to eject him somehow.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Mrs Arklow said, and Anabelle coul
d see such tears in the woman’s eyes that they threatened to spill. “I have seen her do that so many times and had no idea why she did it. But if there is something there which frightens her, and she is trying to get it out, oh my goodness.” She said and finally gave in, reaching into the pocket of her austere dark blue gown to retrieve a handkerchief which she quickly raised to her eyes to dab away her tears.
“I am waiting for her to tell me about the man again so that I might have some hope of working out who he is. But does it make any sense to you at all?” Anabelle said, becoming most practical in a bid to help Mrs Arklow through the painful emotions. “Was she ever frightened by any man you know of?”
“I have never heard of such a thing. And I am certain that if any man had ever frightened her, His Grace would have beaten him to within an inch of his life. He would never stand for his sister to be upset by any person. He is not a brute, you understand, not by nature. But I believe that he could be so, dangerously so, if somebody sought to hurt his beloved Lucy.” Mrs Arklow spoke with the pride of a mother.
“That reminds me, Mrs Arklow.” Anabelle said, rallying when she remembered she had a question to ask. “Some weeks ago, the Duke was talking of the day that Lucy first became unwell. He said that she lost all color in her face at that garden party in the Spring.”
“Yes, it was the last time she was out. It was a cold day, but bright and sunny.”
“The Duke was explaining that he brought her home and she never really recovered again. He was about to tell me something that he had seen at this garden party, but Lucy became upset, we were outside you see, and we both dashed to her side so quickly that I never did get to the bottom of it.”
“Oh Yes?” The practical conversation was certainly working, for Mrs Arklow had recovered almost entirely.
“He said that he now remembers seeing a water barrel.” Anabelle said slowly and narrowed her gaze in confusion. “But I did not like to ask him afterwards what he meant by it in case he thought me impertinent.”
“Very wise, my dear.” Mrs Arklow said and nodded sagely. “You see, that is how his sister Jennifer died.”
The Duke's Heartbreaking Secret: Historical Regency Romance Page 9