It swept him away.
“Aye, you got much ahead of you, dear boy,” Mrs. Capers whispered. “Your mum would be right proud.” She dabbed her eyes with the hem of her apron, then waddled back to the stove.
Elias cleared his throat and looked down at the table. He blinked to keep his eyes from watering. Grown men didn’t cry. The headmaster had drilled this lesson into Elias during his education.
“You think too highly of me,” Elias said to lighten the mood. No, he didn’t belong with Anne and Mrs. Capers. Neither did he belong with Lord and Lady Welby. He’d spent eight years of his life in the servants’ quarters, then ten at Eton. Besides occasional visits to Windermere Hall for holidays, he had lived apart from all relations.
A gentleman’s bastard didn’t seem to belong anywhere.
“You’ll be Lord Welby soon enough,” Anne said with a wink. She snapped and strung beans, working faster as her lapel watch ticked toward five o’clock. If she failed to complete her tasks, Lady Welby would make her sleep in the coal cellar.
“Not for a good while.” Elias raised a teacup to his mouth, its golden rim warm against his lips. He drank to loosen the knot in his throat.
Lord Welby had named Elias the sole heir to Windermere Hall and its assets, a yearly sum of ten thousand pounds. However, the inheritance was contingent on Elias’s behaviour. He must become worthy of such a fortune. One misstep could render him penniless.
“Go freshen up for dinner,” Mrs. Capers said. “You look a mess.”
Elias tousled his dark hair and rose from the stool. He gestured to his attire, a cravat and navy tailcoat, his only non-uniform apparel. “Whatever do you mean? I’m fresh as a daisy.”
Anne snorted.
“That hair of yours needs brushing. And look at your boots. Muddier than pigs’ hooves.” Mrs. Capers sighed, her smile widening. “I’m glad you’ve returned to us, Mr. Welby.”
“Until I eat all your snacks. Then you may change your mind.” Elias bowed and moved toward the doorway. He winced, the pang in his chest now throbbing. Why couldn’t he welcome sentiments from others? He was now a man, not a child weeping in the schoolyard, not a boy snivelling about his dead mother and unaffectionate father.
“Mrs. Capers . . .” Elias paused in the kitchen’s threshold. He glanced over his shoulder and gave a nod. “I do know my place, and I daresay it’s with you.”
The statement was false, but it added a sparkle to Mrs. Capers’s eyes. Of course, Elias wouldn’t dare believe his own lie, but he wanted the statement to be true. His life would seem easier if he knew where and with whom he belonged. People took such certainty for granted.
Elias had accepted the nature of his birth. He’d embraced his responsibilities and Lord Welby’s expectations. But accepting did not put an end to the wanting. It only made wanting all the triter.
He ventured upstairs, where chandeliers rather than oil lamps glowed. He shivered. The main floors seemed too empty for his preference. Their high-ceilinged rooms contained artwork and other valuables, most of them unused and unappreciated.
Such was the Welby way.
Elias wandered past the dining room. Already servants were preparing the table with glassware and silver. Three place settings. Two at one end of the table. A single at the other.
Lady Welby’s voice drifted from the drawing room. “Must I look upon his face every day? Send him to London. Men his age enjoy the city. Perhaps he may return with a wife.”
“The boy has no interest in London,” Lord Welby said.
“Fine. Ship him off to France. I don’t care where he goes as long as he’s not here.”
“He is my son.”
“Your son. Not mine.” Lady Welby moved toward the door, her silhouette casting a shadow into the hall. “We had an agreement.”
“Elias just finished school. He’s not been with us a month.”
“An education does not reverse what he is,” Lady Welby said. “Do us all a favour. Send him to live with your sister. If he’s to inherit our fortune, he must find his place in society.”
Lady Welby’s tone caused Elias to stop dead in his tracks. She despised him, not for what he’d done, but for who he was—the aftermath of her husband’s affair. Perhaps his face was partially to blame, for he bore a striking resemblance to Lord Welby.
Whenever the lady beheld him, she no doubt saw the man who betrayed her confidence.
Elias stepped toward the drawing room. He peered into the chamber, his breaths rasping as he watched Lady Welby pace. No other person—not even the headmaster of Eton—planted fear within him as this woman did. She seemed to tower over everything.
Her footsteps seemed to rattle the house.
“Very well. Elias will visit my sister,” Lord Welby said while lounging in his favourite armchair. He waved to dismiss his wife, then opened a newspaper to its second page.
The harsh words blew through Elias, a gust that stripped him of the downstairs warmth and hopes of ever finding home. His father would force him to leave Windermere Hall, and for what—to appease Lady Welby’s tantrum? It didn’t make sense. Elias was destined to inherit the estate. He’d spent weeks with his father learning about the property and family assets. Lord Welby had even taken him on a business trip to Leeds.
Elias withdrew. He clenched his jaw, a new pain blooming within his chest. He wanted to shout. But he’d learned to keep quiet. He wanted to beg his father to let him stay.
But a gentleman never begged.
“I’ll write to your sister tomorrow.” Lady Welby breezed into the corridor, her muslin gown dusting the tile. She looked at Elias as though he were a fixture. Her expression was blank, her eyes dull.
He found her indifference worse than resentment.
“Lady Welby exhausts me,” Lord Welby said once Elias mustered enough grit to enter the drawing room. He flipped the page of his newspaper. “You would do best not to marry a woman for convenience, for a convenient lady replaces all ease with constant chatter.”
“Father.” Elias paused when Lord Welby glanced up from the print. His relation to the man was undeniable. They shared thin lips and diamond-shaped faces.
Their resemblance had dulled Elias’s memory of his mother. He couldn’t recall her appearance, only her eyes. He saw them whenever he looked in a mirror. Hazel. Haunted.
His eyes belonged to his mother, but he was his father’s in every other way.
“Yes, it’s true,” Lord Welby said. He folded his newspaper and placed it on a side table. “You will visit your cousins. They live near Alnwick, at Cadwallader Park.”
“In Northumberland?” Elias huffed. “What will I do there?”
“Take part in the social season. Make connections.” Lord Welby rose from his chair and gave Elias’s shoulder a hard pat. “I hope for impressive reports.”
“Of course,” Elias said with a nod.
“A gentleman settles for only the best,” the lord said. He went to the fireplace and stirred its coals with a rod. “Do try to find some pleasure in your departure, Son. Only a fool possesses a distaste for the good fortune bestowed upon him.”
Elias clasped his arms behind his back. He took his leave and went upstairs to pack his belongings, shedding not one tear, uttering not one complaint. He was a Welby.
And such was the Welby way.
Sebastian Darling lavished his presence on Windermere Hall for a brief time. He arrived by coach, his footmen dressed in scarlet uniforms trimmed with fringe. His grandeur, which inspired a gossiped reputation in France, drew a crowd from the manor. Lord and Lady Welby waved the carriage up the gravel drive while their staff arranged themselves on the front stoop.
The fuss seemed inevitable. Elias had overheard rumours about his cousin, of which the most admirable came from his father, who considered Sebastian the perfect Englishman.
The servants’ conversations did not include the same level of flattery.
“One person for tea, and the lady requests a croquembouc
he and plum pudding,” Mrs. Capers griped from her place next to Elias. “Oh, the nonsense of it all.” Since dawn, she had laboured in the kitchens, preparing desserts.
“And you’re surprised? Lady Welby requested a tiered cake when her sister came to visit.” Elias cracked a smile. He faced the front lawn, where footmen waited to greet the carriage.
His relatives couldn’t be worse than Lady Welby or the masters at Eton.
“Will you be gone long?” Mrs. Capers asked.
“I’ll return when my father bids me,” Elias said. He didn’t wish to contemplate losing Anne and Mrs. Capers. Thoughts of farewell weighted to his shoulders, made him feel something he hated and feared.
Good-bye had taken his family. Years prior, he’d kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand. He had climbed into a coach, waved to Mrs. Capers, then watched Windermere Hall fade into the distance. When life brought him back to the estate, his mother no longer stood on the front stoop.
“You are a kind and decent man, Mr. Welby,” Mrs. Capers whispered. “Consider us your home, for we find only pleasure in your company.”
Elias blinked to keep his emotions at bay. He wouldn’t shed tears in front of Lord Welby. His feelings didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. He needed to leave Windermere Hall for his future. For his inheritance. To please his father.
To prove he was more than a bastard.
Footmen rushed forward once the carriage rolled to a stop. They opened its door, revealing a young man with auburn ringlets.
“What a generous welcome,” Sebastian said as he emerged from the compartment. He swept a tall hat from his head and fell into a bow. “I daresay I’ve not been received by such an audience since, well, my court date. Apparently celebration is a criminal offense.”
“Good afternoon, Nephew. You look quite well.” Lord Welby stepped from the lineup. He gave Sebastian a handshake.
“Quite well? Nonsense. I believe my looks fare a bit grander than well.” Sebastian grinned when one of the maids giggled.
“Will you join us for afternoon tea?” Lady Welby asked. Her mouth twitched into a sensible smile of the type Elias considered unattractive and, at times, frightening.
“Unfortunately, I must depart as soon as possible. My parents wish me back at Cadwallader by dusk.” Sebastian dismissed Lady Welby with a turn of his shoulder, a discourtesy that caused Mrs. Capers to snicker. He motioned for Elias to enter the carriage.
“I suppose the lady will have plum pudding for dinner,” Mrs. Capers said under her breath. She touched Elias’s arm, perhaps to comfort him. “Godspeed, Mr. Welby.”
Elias patted her knuckles. He left the front stoop, his heart racing as a footman strapped his trunk to the coach.
Lord Welby gave a nod, an acceptable good-bye.
“Cousin, we best leave with haste.” Sebastian hurried to the carriage and scaled its step. “Tell me. Are you the snitch type?” he asked once Elias entered the coach. His amber eyes gleamed with mischief. His mouth lifted into a smirk.
“I mind my own business,” Elias said. He knew several boys from Eton who behaved like Sebastian. Most of them had ended up with birched backsides and reprimands.
Sebastian flashed a smile, his body swaying as the carriage lurched into motion. “Good, good. I believe we’ll get on, then.” He reached beneath his seat and disinterred a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. With a tug, he removed its cork.
“Why do you ask?” Elias leaned toward the window to glimpse Windermere Hall before it vanished behind a coppice. He studied the limestone façade and its topiaries, the obscure silhouette of Mrs. Capers shooing other staff members indoors.
Sebastian chuckled and took a swig of the wine. “Tonight I begin your tutorage.”
The vacant country house rose from acres of farmland, its property basked in crisp northern air and scents of tilled soil. Although secluded, the estate offered pristine hunting grounds and quiet living. That is, whenever its owner dared venture from London.
Such isolation gave opportunity to the local and rather daring gentry. On nights when the moon shone through the gloom and flooded the hills with silver light, young people ventured from across the county to entertain themselves at the retreat.
Sebastian Darling refused to miss the clandestine engagements, for even the most witless noblemen understood the importance of attendance. He resolved to take his bastard cousin to the event, more so to keep the appointment than introduce Elias Welby to his companions. What could go wrong? His parents did not expect him to return until the following day. His cousin seemed tame enough. Besides, how could anyone distinguish their identities at a masquerade?
“I cut holes for your eyes.” Sebastian shoved a burlap sack against Elias’s chest and proceeded to fasten a capitano mask onto his own face. “I couldn’t find an extra mask, so you’ll have to make do. Remember. No snitching.”
“Wasn’t your family expecting us for dinner?” Elias slid the sack over his head and followed Sebastian from the coach. He peered through the crudely sliced holes at the front lawn, its overgrown flower beds, and torch-lit walkways.
“No, I fibbed. My parents don’t anticipate our arrival until tomorrow,” Sebastian said with a snicker. He led Elias to a bonfire located behind the main house. There, dozens of young aristocrats gathered, each person donning an ornate mask. They crowded buffet tables and danced to music played by a solo violinist.
“Who hosts the party?” Elias asked.
“Mr. Doyle owns the estate, but he only visits twice a year. His eldest son throws parties for those of us caught in the tethers of fine living. We do this in secret, so I ask you not to mention the event at breakfast tomorrow.” Sebastian narrowed his eyes, perhaps to hint at a threat. “Stay here while I fetch us some pints.”
“No, wait—” Elias groaned when Sebastian charged into the commotion. Of course his cousin had to be an unpredictable dandy with a penchant for alcohol. He couldn’t have been related to a clergyman or someone civil.
Elias scratched his face, the burlap like nettles against his cheeks. He watched partiers mill around him. They stared at his apparel, and rightly so. No other gentleman wore a feed sack.
Granted, no other gentleman would’ve agreed to wear a feed sack.
“Sir, is your head too large for normal masks, or do you just appreciate the artistry of burlap?” A girl appeared beside him, clothed in a ruby-red gown with golden bumblebees trailing up her torso. She lowered her mask, exposing plump lips and slate-blue eyes set above a button nose. Her expression beamed a warmth that caused him to perspire.
“I’m quite shy,” Elias said in jest, a flutter stirring within him as he watched the girl sway to the music. He towered over her, yet she didn’t seem petite. On the contrary, she held herself with a confidence that added a meter to her height.
“Ah, I see.” She laughed, her face scrunching to make space for a grand smile. “You need not feel shy around me, though. I’ll be enough not shy for the both of us.”
“You’re too generous.” Elias smiled beneath his shroud.
Their conversation defied etiquette. Without a mutual friend to introduce them, strangers were required to remain strangers. At least such was the rule taught to Elias. He had learned to maintain distance from all persons not in his realm of acquaintance.
“Or perhaps foolish. My father says I talk too much. He swears I could befriend a rock.” The girl curtsied and raised her mask. “Enjoy the party, Bag Head. I advise you stay away from men like . . . Mr. Darling over there. He’ll get you into heaps of troubles.”
Elias snorted. “That’s my cousin.”
“Really? Oh dear.” The girl tucked a chestnut-brown curl behind her ear. “I shall leave you before I further embarrass myself.”
Her rose perfume tingled Elias’s nostrils as she waltzed toward the bonfire.
“I like when people talk,” he called after her. “Very much so.”
She twirled to confront him, her curved figure a spectacle ben
eath its satin gown. “Then you must ask me to dance later. I shall tell you all sorts of silly things.”
Elias gave a bow, his skin tingling with a strange warmth. He’d met ladies during his stint at Eton, but none of them spoke like the girl in the bumblebee dress. There seemed a lightness about her. She belonged upstairs . . .
And yet she reminded him of downstairs.
“Cousin, your lessons begin now.” Sebastian pranced from the buffet table with a pair of pints. He slurped from their rims to keep ale from spilling, his cravat already soaked with the amber beverage. “Drink one of these. You best learn the art of irresponsibility.”
“Do you know that girl?” Elias asked when Sebastian forced a cup into his hand. He gestured to the girl in the bumblebee dress, who now stood with a cluster of ladies.
“Josephine De Clare? Indeed. Her parents keep company with mine.” Sebastian guzzled his drink, then flung the empty cup over his shoulder. “Heed my advice, Elias. Stay away from Miss De Clare. The girl reads too many books.”
“You dislike books?”
“They do not offend me,” Sebastian said. “But I consider their effect on women most damaging. A well-read lady believes herself far too capable, daresay superior. Just look at Miss De Clare. The girl does not faint nor withhold her opinions. She denies the fragility of her sex—a treacherous violation of etiquette. I blame literature for her behaviour. A lady who reads too many words eventually feels the need to voice some of her own.”
Sebastian gasped when a boy stumbled onto the dance floor and whirled with his arms outstretched. “Come, Elias. You must play spin-the-sot. I insist.”
Before Elias could protest or drink his ale, Sebastian jerked him into the sea of dancers. Partiers formed a rotating circle around the drunk while he twirled. The game seemed juvenile, but Elias played along. He galloped in his place, his legs wobbling.
People orbited the intoxicated boy until he spun himself sick. His body collapsed with a thump, and he sprawled like clock hands, his arms pointing at opposite ends of the circle.
Dearest Josephine Page 4