Just as things had begun to settle down, the place was about to be blessed again with a most exciting change – Lady Bromley announced that her good friend the Dowager Marchioness of Chesterport, and her three children, would be coming to visit.
Her eldest child was a son named Maximilian, now the Marquess, who was two or three years older than Grace.
She had known him when she was little, but she had been quite happy to forget the acquaintance soon enough – Max had been a pretentious and self-serving child, who would always insist on them playing all sorts of pretend games which took place at court, so that he could remind her of his precedence over her. The Marchioness also had two daughters, one a year younger than Grace, and one who was only ten or eleven. Grace did not expect them to be much different – even when tiny they had been as pretentious as their brother, if not quite so imperious about it.
All matters considered, she was not very thrilled to learn that she would be obliged to play the host for the daughters, but there was not much to be done about it. Amelia, on the other hand, seemed to be absolutely beside herself with excitement at the very idea that she would have the honour of meeting the Marquess and his mother – Grace could not hold it against her; Amelia had not gone about in society at all, and making the acquaintance of such a high-ranking person must have sounded grand, if one did not know the character of said person.
The Dowager Marchioness was stiff, and very much set in her ways. In the past, she had always scolded Grace on various matters – matters of which she had obviously been informed by Lady Bromley - and the two of them had not hesitated to corner her, as two hounds corner a fox. Grace had never felt adequate in such situations, quite the opposite – their attitude had made her quite sure that she was inadequate in every way. She had no doubt that nothing would have changed in that regard.
When the day of the guests’ arrival came, Grace and Amelia dressed in their most graceful morning attire and went out to greet the Marchioness and her children. Grace felt it almost impossible to maintain a dignified look about her with the morning sun shining directly into her eyes, as they stood on the front steps. It was, she thought, a momentous occasion indeed, not because of the arrivals, but because they had distracted her mother enough that she had not noticed that Grace had once again forgotten her bonnet.
At last, the carriage arrived – its black lacquer caught the light, and the crest of the ancient family was beautifully painted on its door. The first person to step down was Max, who turned and offered a hand to help his mother and sisters out of the carriage.
None of the annoyingly snarky child remained in him, now that he bore the title of Marquess - at least to the view of an observer. He greeted Lady Bromley with stiff elegance, before turning to both Grace and Amelia. He was the picture of etiquette – so much so, that it seemed to render him absolutely artificial. Grace could not help but compare his stiffness of manner to Theodore’s easy charm, and find Max rather wanting in appeal. His sisters, Lady Violet and Lady Jane, seemed to be cut of the same cloth as he – they both climbed the stairs with impeccable posture, as if they were miniature models of the most honourable personages in all of England. Grace was amused, and saddened, by the fact that Lady Jane, even though a child of ten or eleven years, was already so prim and proper.
As Grace watched them, she felt almost scruffy by comparison, even though she was perfectly presented – well, apart from the missing bonnet.
They exchanged greetings, then went inside, and she wondered if the entirety of the visit would be as stiffly formal as this. If it was, it would rapidly become unbearable, at least to her. No doubt her mother would be happy, and, beside her, Amelia appeared rather overawed by the whole thing.
~~~~~
Amelia stood beside Grace, watching as the carriage drew up before Hesterton Park. She wasn’t sure what to expect, for Grace had seemed unimpressed by the visit of these important people – but perhaps that was because her memories of them were from some years before? Perhaps those childhood memories did not reflect the people as they were now?
The carriage door opened, and a man stepped out as the footman held the door. He was tall, and well built, his light brown hair catching the afternoon sun. His clothing was immaculate, and obviously of the very best tailoring. But most of all, Amelia’s eye was caught by his handsome face. It quite took her breath away.
He moved with elegance, as if such control and imposing manners were natural to him. Amelia envied him that skill, even as she admired it. He turned to assist his mother and sisters out of the carriage, but she barely noticed them, so intent was her gaze on the Marquess.
Soon, they were all coming up the stairs, and introductions were performed. He took her hand when introduced, and bowed over it – over her hand! Her, ordinary Miss Amelia Gardner! – then rose.
Their eyes met, and all else faded from her awareness.
His eyes were a hazel colour, full of sparks of gold and green, and, where he had seemed serious before, now that she met his eyes, something stirred in them. Could it be… pleasure? Was he, an important man, actually pleased to see her?
She did not know, but suddenly, the next few days appeared full of potential – a potential she had never before considered.
Chapter Four
After changing into new and more sumptuous clothes, the party reassembled for tea in the parlour. Lady Bromley and the Marchioness placed themselves by the fire, which was lit, even though the days were still rather warm, while Max and his sisters fell to the care of Grace and Amelia.
“Mama told us that you are already acquainted with our brother Max, Lady Grace,” Lady Jane began as she daintily held her cup of tea. Lady Violet, her older sister, immediately threw her a glance, as if she did not feel that it was proper for her to start a conversation.
“Oh, yes, indeed.” Grace replied emphatically. “We used to run about the garden as children, didn’t we?”
She turned to the Marquess, who was obviously rather uncomfortable with the subject.
“I declare, I am mortified when I think of the unbearable child I used to be.” He replied in a soft voice. “You will be glad to know that I am completely reformed.”
“Were you insufferable?” Lady Jane asked.
“Jane! That is quite enough!” her sister exclaimed.
Grace was perfectly amused by the sisters. Lady Jane was lively and would have been more outspoken, were it not for the tyrant Lady Violet, who kept her in line with all of the authority of a strict governess. After silencing her disobedient sister, Lady Violet turned the conversation to the innocuous subject of the weather, by which she was able to bring about the opportunity to impart the information that they had just returned from London.
“How grand!” Amelia exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with awe.
“Not at all. I found it tedious at best, and taxing at worst. It is such a busy place - one receives morning calls each day and is dragged out to the theatre on every evening. By the time we returned to the country, I could most properly appreciate a slow evening spent in the comfort of the parlour.” Lady Violet declared, as if she herself was the woman of the house, tasked with receiving all guests.
“Were the plays any good?” Grace asked Max, (as she still thought of him – she supposed that she should attempt to think of him as Lord Chesterport now) as he had been silent for some time.
“Some were aptly performed,” he replied after a short pause, leaving Grace with not much else to say to his answer. The conversation continued in the same stilted manner for some time. When the imminence of dinner was announced, Grace felt a moment of relief, knowing that it would afford her some respite from her desperate efforts to find an engaging topic of discussion.
As they all went up to dress for the occasion, she took Amelia to her room with her.
After the door was closed, they both burst out laughing, covering their mouths with their hands so as not to make too much noise.
“Can you believe them?” Gr
ace exclaimed. “Are these persons even real?”
“I am half convinced that they are artfully made marionettes – at least the girls. Lord Chesterport seems perhaps more comfortable in his manner – for some of the time,” Amelia exclaimed.
“You should wear one of my dresses. I cannot bear having you away to your room to change.” Grace said to Amelia as the maid came into the room to assist them with dressing. “Whatever shall we do with them tomorrow, if they do not bore us to death at dinner, that is?”
Grace went about picking the dresses, still smiling with amusement.
“Anything but sitting around and discussing how tedious everything is. I do believe we’ve fully covered that subject.” Amelia replied.
Grace stopped in the middle of the room and turned to her.
“I have a wonderful idea! Why, we should take them out to the ruins of the Spectre’s Cloister! We could send for Theodore as well!”
“Your lady mother would never let us do that!” Amelia scoffed. “And I doubt you have as many suitable horses as would be needed.”
“We shall take the carriage.” Grace began, setting out the plan. “We shall have Miss Harold with us, of course – that will please Mama. And Theodore might ride along on his horse. We must make it happen, my dear Amelia,” she pleaded with her, laughing. “For the sake of our own sanity we must!”
The invitation was made at dinner. Max and his sisters expressed neither revulsion nor excitement in regards to the prospect – they simply accepted without much affectation of interest. But Grace’s surprise came with Lady Bromley’s reaction, as she seemed more than pleased to have them go out together.
“Grace knows all of the most wonderful places around the Park.” Lady Bromley exclaimed to the Marchioness. “She gets a lot of exercise – it is why she is so perfectly healthy.”
Grace had never before heard such words of praise from her mother about her frequent rides about the country – and judging by her early childhood, she had half expected to have the Marchioness reprimand her for the suggested neglect of her lessons. But Lady Bromley’s friend appeared to be oblivious to such transgressions at the moment, although the two women had been conversing for the better part of the day. Of course, none of the reasons for that reaction mattered, really, as Grace had achieved exactly what she wanted.
~~~~~
That night, as Grace prepared for bed, she considered her painting, which rested on the easel across the room, awaiting her next chance to work on it. Little remained to be done, and she was rather pleased with it, all in all.
She had, she thought, captured the brooding gothic air of it, as Theodore had described it.
As she had painted it, believing it haunted was easy.
She slipped into bed, and lay there, wondering what the following day’s weather would be like – part of her wished for it to storm, as it had briefly a few times in the last week, but part of her fervently wished for fine weather – for without that, they would not be allowed their excursion.
Sleep claimed her rapidly, and her thoughts turned into dreams – in which she found herself, again, at the Spectre’s Cloister, cowering as lightning struck the stones above her. It was exactly as it had been in her waking imagination, when she had been painting – a man came to her through the storm, as calm as if he was, truly, the Lord of the Storm, and gathered her up to safety. Again, he wore Theodore’s appearance, and again, he kissed her, deeply and passionately, until her dream-self forgot the thunder and lightning above, forgot everything but the pleasure of his kiss.
She woke early, the dream still with her, and her body feeling flushed and odd.
~~~~~
Early in the morning of the next day, Theodore, having been sent a message the previous evening, arrived on his grey stallion to ride with them, and Amelia also decided to ride, for the greater comfort of the rest who were going by carriage. Miss Harold seated herself on the box beside the coachman, just as the servants were loading the carriage with refreshments.
The day was sunlit and they had left the top of the brougham folded down, to better appreciate the day, and the scenery. Grace took her place, with Lady Jane by her side, Max helped Lady Violet up, and they were off.
“Tell me about this castle, Lady Grace.”
Max was the first to speak as they went down the road.
“I’m afraid I know so little about it.” Grace replied, turning to glance towards Theodore. “There are no remaining records which could tell us about the family who once resided within its walls, and all of the crests on it have since been eroded by the weather. But it’s still very pretty on a bright day, although it would look rather ominous in a storm.” She paused, then called to Miss Harold. “Miss Harold, do you know anything more about the Spectre’s Cloister?”
“Nothing certain, my Lady.” The young woman replied. “Although I have heard stories that the Lord whose seat it was went off crusading, and died an honourable death while upholding the sacred values of Christianity. It was said that he came back to haunt it, seeking the comfort of home, when he’d died so far away. Which is why they now call it the Spectre’s Cloister.”
“That is remarkable!” Theodore exclaimed, having been riding close beside them and heard the exchange. “So it seems that some information about it has survived, after all. I had not heard that legend of it before, and I have heard quite a few.”
“Information.” Amelia interjected. “Or myth, woven by people who have seen the place in its current decrepit state and wondered about its glory days.”
“It sounds as if it is just a pile of rocks.” Lady Jane exclaimed, crossing her arms. Lady Violet was not pleased with her remark at all.
“The mountains are just piles of rock as well, but do you not find them beautiful?” Grace replied to Lady Jane, ignoring Lady Violet’s expression.
“What is there to like? They are only crumpled-up hills,” the girl replied, and they all laughed at her odd but confident statement.
Once they reached the old arching bridge which led towards the castle, they decided to continue on foot, for the path was narrow from there, and not well suited to carriages. The weather was rather windy, and big patches of cloud obscured the sun at times, leaving blotches of shade all around the surrounding hills. The atmosphere was pensive and melancholic, and everyone was silent for a while, passively taking in the majestic scenery. As they neared the ruins, the party soon separated into groups. Grace walked ahead of the others with Max, followed by Theodore who had taken Lady Violet’s arm. Amelia had remained with Miss Harold and Lady Jane, who was running about the field picking wild flowers.
“Do you like it?” Grace asked Max as they walked under the great stone archways. “Isn’t it magnificent?”
“Indeed,” he replied, yet Grace felt that he was not fully convinced of the sentiment. He accompanied his bland remark with a polite smile, and even seemed to briefly look about him for Grace’s sake. “It is undoubtedly medieval architecture, so the tales of a crusader having lived here are possible,” he said eventually.
It took all of Grace’s strength to keep her from issuing a deep sigh. It amazed her how Lord Chesterport was able to turn such a superb outing into a dull affair. It was as if he had no heart with which to feel all of the romantic emotions one is overwhelmed by when walking among the ancient ruins of the past. He had the sensibility of a stone wall. Grace glanced past him, to see Lady Violet and Theodore avidly caught in conversation. Lady Violet even seemed thawed from her previous stiffness by his vivacious way of being. For a moment, jealousy flared in her breast. Irritated, she turned her eyes determinedly elsewhere. Which did not prevent her from hearing their conversation.
“You mean to say that there is more of it, Mr Gardner?” Lady Violet exclaimed.
“Of course!” Theodore replied, pointing across the courtyard. “You can see the gate there,” he gestured, “and here must have been the entrance into the keep itself. Some of the rooms are still accessible, and you can still
see the remains of the great hearths which used to warm this great stone keep. Beyond this part, there are many smaller inner courtyards.”
“Does it have dungeons?” Lady Violet asked, enraptured by the picture Theodore was painting in her mind with his words. The whole party gathered to listen to him.
“Of course it does! Although, they have been long sealed off by the decaying upper floors breaking off and tumbling over the entrances. If one peers through cracks in the piles of stone, one can see doors – which seem still whole, and are probably still locked if they are, and the key long lost amongst the ruins. Perhaps, if one were to find a way in, one would find the remains of the prisoners who were kept inside.”
Lady Violet squealed with excitement, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Or bottles of fine wine.” Grace said, smiling.
“Do you think Lord Crusader had any time for wine?” Theodore asked.
“Well, he must have done something with his time when he was not off on his travels, fighting glorious battles. Perhaps he acquired the taste during his stay on the continent, before he went to the holy land.”
“It’s sad that he couldn’t come back and enjoy his collection.” Amelia came walking towards them, and beside her Lady Jane was crowned with a multitude of flowers, woven into a wreath for her hair.
Grace looked back at Max. He was perfectly engrossed in his own thoughts, and had contributed nothing to the discussion. He simply stood silently, away from the commotion, observing his sisters and the others with an air of vagueness about him.
She had ample time to observe him, without him noticing that she did. He was a fairly handsome man, tall and fashionably dressed, and his furrowed brow and stiff posture gave him a rather gothically severe air against the backdrop of the ruined walls around him. But Grace knew that there was nothing gothic about Max, Lord Chesterport, apart from this perfectly still moment in time, when he looked the part.
Lord of the Storm: The Common Elements Romance Project (Regency Gothic Book 1) Page 3