by L C Kincaide
Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “It will be manageable. This is a large house, and you may not see some guests very often. Some family members are not as social as others, and they prefer to keep to themselves, so don’t be shocked to find yourself looking into an unfamiliar face from time to time.”
“I won’t. Thanks for the warning.”
“Right then, I shall leave you to freshen up. I look forward to becoming better acquainted. Until then…” Lucy turned from the room, her ringlets swinging.
Moments later, Clyfford returned with extra towels and a trolley with tea and sandwiches.
Friendly people, gorgeous clothes, a fabulous manor house and room service! This weekend was feeling like a dream vacation she could never afford, and it had come at a perfect time.
When Emma first started talking about her family’s annual gathering, she thought of the visit as a fun diversion from recent events, a chance to clear her head and possibly return home with a fresh perspective. The truth of the matter was that there was nothing left to talk about when she got back. Already six months had passed since catching her boyfriend with another woman. If Jen hadn’t wanted to celebrate her promotion in that very restaurant that night, would she have ever known? She found it further maddening that Brad could not understand why she had become withdrawn, as if it being only a dinner date with a colleague, it should be easier for her to overlook. But overlook it, she could not. They had been holding hands.
For months, she wondered if her attitude toward him would change and she could find a way to accept his remorse at face value. As she waited for forgiveness to take the place of betrayal, she threw out his wilted bouquets, rinsed out the vase and replaced them with fresh flowers, but the pretty vegetation did nothing to placate her. Three weeks ago she had moved out of their apartment at last realizing she will never trust him again. So much for their four years together. So much for a happily ever after.
There was a time when she had nurtured such fantasies, back when her head was filled with naïve, adolescent dreams, before she met Brad and experienced their relationship.
A psychic many years ago foretold that she will meet a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes, and it will feel like fireworks exploding. She had actually said, fireworks. Then the psychic drew a sketch that Ivy kept between the pages of a copy of Jane Eyre, for that was a book only she would ever open. As amusing as the whole session was, she had held on to the sketch because at heart, she believed its subject might in fact exist. Over the following months, she had refined it, accentuating the shading around the dark eyes, perhaps brown or very deep gray, adding highlights and shadows to waves of black hair.
The mystery man in the sketch reminded her of a lone wolf, his eyes soulful and secretive, his countenance brooding. Then she met Brad, blond and blue-eyed with a disarming wide grin, and Mr. tall-dark-and-brooding was relegated to a shelf, where he remained to this day. If she still harbored such hopes, they were buried though in recent months the image had materialized in her mind’s eye once or twice.
Yes, indeed, the weekend getaway was timely.
She poured herself a cup of tea and nibbled on a triangle of cucumber sandwich with the crust cut off — very English. Before climbing into the tub, she ate three more pieces. It wasn’t a good idea to get tipsy as soon as she arrived and leave a bad impression. She hadn’t met anyone yet, except for Saynsbery, Clyfford, and just now, cousin Lucy.
After washing up quickly, she wrapped herself in a robe and headed back to the bedroom to apply her makeup. How lovely that her biggest concern was deciding which of the beautiful Edwardian dresses she planned on wearing this evening. Maybe the darker velvet gown with satin and black lace trim would be appropriate for tonight, and tomorrow, she’d choose a cotton dress with lace or ribbons, and one of the extravagant hats that went with them. She equally looked forward to having her hair done up. Slipping back one hundred plus years into the past was not going to be a problem.
Velvet curtains held the night at bay, and the logs in the fireplace crackled invitingly. Sitting down at the dressing table, she started in surprise. On the tabletop gleamed a sterling silver ladies grooming set; a hairbrush, hand mirror and a tortoiseshell comb. She didn’t recall any of these items lying there earlier, but they must have been there all along, and she was too distracted by everything else that clamored for her attention to notice.
She picked up the mirror, turned it over and traced the raised pattern on the back with her finger. The monogram was, AE in a swirling script and judging from its weight, the item was not merely silver plate, but the real thing, and it belonged to a lady.
Ivy gazed at her reflection, but was reluctant to use the lovely brush. A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts, and she put the mirror down. Clyfford strode in and without hesitation picked up the brush and started pulling it efficiently through Ivy’s hair.
Stepping away from the dressing-table mirror, Ivy scarcely recognized herself. Her hair was swept back expertly in a low bun, that was anchored with a decorative abalone comb, another surprise that had been concealed in the dressing-table drawer. Soft wisps framed her cheeks. She had selected the dusky blue gown for the evening and accented it with a simple strand of pearls, matching earrings and bracelet. She didn’t own much jewellery, but at least the pearls were real.
Satisfied with her work, Clyfford retreated from the room, pushing the trolley with the used dishes and damp towels before her, and Ivy was left alone to appreciate her reflection. Turning to view herself from different angles, she smiled and skimmed her fingers over the soft velvet. At last, she felt she had arrived in the Edwardian era. Slipping on the matching shoes that fit perfectly — had she given Emma her shoe size at some point? — she prepared to go downstairs and meet the rest of the household.
Wall sconces in the long corridor cast muted light on paintings of bucolic scenes and floral arrangements that she hadn’t had a chance to appreciate when she had first arrived. Now, she tried to remember which way she had taken; was it right then left? This was not a good time to be directionally challenged. Turning right, she followed the runner passing several closed doors, and still there seemed to be no end to it. Not only that, the hallway was growing darker; the sconces barely flickered here. It reminded her of a funhouse at a fair; an endlessly stretching passage, only this one was marked by panelled wainscoting.
A series of arches up ahead indicated an intersecting hallway, or they merely existed for the sake of symmetry. It was impossible to say in these old houses. Was she heading in the right direction anymore? Maybe she missed a turn somewhere. Stopping, she peered in front of her then turned to see where she had come from. Loath to admit it, even to herself, she had no idea where she was and dreaded arriving late on her first night. How embarrassing and no one to ask for directions as humiliating as that would be! I’m certainly off to a great start!
A sound from behind had her spin around, and she barely stifled a scream. Before her, a dark-haired man regarded her with eyes that appeared almost black in the dim light, a quizzical expression playing upon his features. He was older than her, somewhere in his thirties. His black evening suit fit his broad-shouldered, lean frame perfectly. A garnet tie tack glinted in a silk puff tie against the standup collar.
“You are not by any chance lost?” He asked in an English accent, his voice deep-toned.
Struck speechless and trying to regain her composure, Ivy blinked back at him. If this had been a scene in a movie, she, as the heroine would be preparing to swoon gracefully into his waiting arms. Emma never mentioned a tall, dark and handsome relation staying under the same roof. For now, she was grateful she had managed not to scream, and hoped the next words to come out of her mouth made sense.
“I — as a matter of fact, I am. I think I should have turned left when I kept going straight. Or something like it.”
He grinned. “It
is a common enough misjudgement. Rest assured, you are not the first person to become disoriented in this warren of hallways.”
“I feel much better knowing that.” She admitted, all the while her eyes roved his features.
His expression became serious. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Mason Everdon.” He inclined his head.
“Ivy Wylmot.”
He stepped closer and gently took her extended hand by the fingers, bowing over it. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Wylmot. Are you staying with us for the next few days?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then I hope you will find your visit an enjoyable one.” A hint of a smile touched his lips.
“Thank you, I’m sure I will.” Ivy replied with enthusiasm. “This house is magnificent from what I’ve seen of it so far.” She grinned. “Though calling it a house hardly does it justice.”
“I would have to agree with you on that score. A house such as this has many secrets. It takes a long time to discover its true nature.”
“Then, I will do my best to appreciate it in the time I have.”
“How long are you staying, if I may ask?”
“Through Sunday. I leave on Monday.”
“That at least gives you two full days of exploration.”
“If I had known I’d be getting lost, I would have brought a compass.”
Mason Everdon grinned at the remark. “Indeed. One wainscoted corridor looks very much like the next.”
Ivy watched him as he spoke, his eyes now warmer, his mouth curved in a smile. Yes, he was very appealing in his old-fashioned clothes and manner, yet he seemed very authentic, as if this deportment came to him naturally.
“Perhaps I should make myself useful and deliver you downstairs. That is where you were headed?”
“Yes. They are waiting for me in the drawing room.”
“Then, if you’ll allow me.” He crooked his arm, and Ivy slipped her hand through. “This is the northeast wing. It is no longer in use, but we still keep the gaslights on.” He guided her down the corridor then turned right.
Northeast, Ivy thought. Perfect! She had gone straight across to the other end of the building.
“Everdon Manor is a fine example of Georgian architecture. Perhaps, if you will permit me, I may give you a tour, provided that the others don’t completely monopolize your time here.”
Ivy’s pulse quickened. “That’s very generous of you. As it is, I need a map just to find the stairs without getting lost.”
“I am sure you will not be lost for long.” He said amused.
Ivy wondered what his relationship was to everyone else. Emma had volunteered very little. In fact, she never discussed her family until she brought up the weekend, and now that she was finally about to meet the mysterious Everdon family members, she was late! At least for a very good reason and she wouldn’t have minded being a bit more late.
They turned the corner where she had miscalculated and made their way down the sweeping staircase. For a moment, she imagined herself truly back in 1903, on the arm of her dashing husband, or at the very least her fiancé, for they would have to be in some fashion promised to one another to be wandering the hallways alone, and that descending this majestic staircase on his arm was a daily occurrence. They crossed the central hall and stopped near an open double door.
“Thank you, Mr. Everdon. I really appreciate this.”
He smiled, “Until our next meeting.” He inclined his head. “And it’s Mason.”
Ivy watched him — Mason stroll across the marble hall and round a corner. He looked good from this direction too; straight-backed, his hand in a pocket. She realized her pulse was running a little faster since she had first set out from her room.
“I thought I heard you!” Emma’s coiffed head poked out from the doorway. “I hope you didn’t get lost.”
Ivy turned toward her, made a face and shrugged.
“Oh, no. I should have gotten you myself. I forget how confusing it is with all these hallways and turns, especially in the dark. Come on in and have that drink I promised you. You’ve certainly earned it. And don’t worry, you’re the first one down. Mum will be down in a minute. By the way, you look awesome!”
Emma too had undergone a transformation, her hair elaborately arranged in overlapping waves atop her head, vermilion satin hugging her curves. Ivy grinned; nothing demure about her.
She was about to ask about Mason Everdon when the lady of the manor entered on the arm of a fair-haired man.
Emma made the introductions to her mother and older brother, Matthew. The lady’s mannerisms were graceful, and she carried herself with a solemn dignity as opposed to her daughter’s romping enthusiasm. Inquisitive blue-gray eyes regarded her. “It is very lovely to meet you, Ivy. Did you have a pleasant trip?”
“Yes, I did and thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Stuart.”
“You are most welcome, dear. Emma has told me very little about you. I look forward to becoming better acquainted. And please, call me Elinor.”
Similar in coloring to her daughter, her silver streaked hair was dressed in a pompadour with a soft bun, and her pale eyebrows were pencilled in to compensate for their fairness. Her features had softened with age, the beginnings of jowls appearing at her jawline. Nevertheless, she was an attractive woman, the beauty of her youth still in evidence. Her choice of gown was in a dove-gray silk with a high collar and bishop sleeves with an antique cameo pinned at her throat.
Matthew too was dressed in evening clothes of the era though he didn’t appear to wear his as comfortably as Mason Everdon had, and as a result, he was not as convincing in his portrayal of an Edwardian gentleman. The standup collar that he periodically ran a finger under appeared to contribute to his discomfort, and he impressed Ivy as a polo shirt type of dresser, classy yet comfortable. Though his demeanor was friendly, she had the feeling he would rather be somewhere else. Then again, she didn’t know him, and it was possible this was his usual way with strangers.
Now that Ivy had met more family members, they could not have been more different. This branch was obviously the fair-haired and light-eyed. Certainly attractive, but Ivy’s tastes ran to the dark side, and she wondered if she was going to be thinking about Mason Everdon from now on until the end of her visit.
Elinor indicated for them to take their seats, and Saynsbery served the Dubonnet. This room, like all the others was panelled, this one in natural polished wood, and a fire crackled in a fireplace flanked with pillars and inlaid marble panels. Paintings of birds and wild animals graced the walls, and deep red brocade drapes revealed tall, multi-paned windows.
Ivy glanced around for Lucy, but she had not ventured downstairs, nor had Mason returned. She had hoped to see them again, and if anyone found it odd, they were not joining the rest of them for apéritifs, there was no mention of it, and she kept her opinions to herself like a gracious guest should. After all, her family wasn’t exactly conventional either, and far from perfect.
“I hope your room is satisfactory.” Elinor turned to Ivy.
“It’s wonderful. I love it.”
“I’m so glad. And it appears the dresses fit. I hoped they would. Emma gave me an approximation of your figure, but one never knows.”
Emma was very perceptive. Ivy was sure they never discussed dress or shoe sizes. Then again, they likely wore the same size, anyway.
“They are absolutely beautiful. The detail is exquisite. Thank you, I will be careful with them.”
“Now, I hope you won’t let the clothes become a hindrance. The last thing I want is for you to restrain yourself from having an enjoyable time. They are only dresses after all.”
They were, Ivy smiled appreciating her hostess’ generosity, but they were gorgeous and likely very expensive.
�
�You probably think it’s a bizarre custom we have here,” Matthew spoke up from his wing chair, “holding a weekend costume party.”
His mother stiffened, but her smile remained in place.
Emma picked up from his remark. “Matthew isn’t much for long-standing family traditions, and he finds all this a bit — overdone.” She turned to him. “Am I right?”
He nodded assent and raised his glass. Elinor shifted uncomfortably.
Ivy thought of something positive to say. The fire in the grate danced merrily, but the air in the room had become sullen.
“I think it’s a charming tradition, and I’m looking forward to it. I’ve always been attracted to the eras of the past and their customs.”
“I am gratified to hear that, dear.” Elinor spoke perking up. “I’m afraid my children are somewhat jaded. You see, they’ve had years of tradition, and they no longer appreciate it.”
Matthew had turned his attention to his drink, and Emma’s earlier sunny disposition was cooling.
“Tell me, Ivy. Does your family hold traditions?”
She didn’t have to think about her response. “No, I can’t say we do.”
She hoped Elinor will not pursue this line of questioning further. Her parents divorced when she was little, and her mother raised her with the help of her grandparents. When she was eighteen, her mother married a man Ivy despised, and she moved in with Brad. Since then, her grandfather passed away, and her grandmother languished in a nursing home having forgotten them all in her Alzheimers decline. The subject of the Wylmot family was not an enjoyable one.
“But surely…”
“I think supper is being served.” Emma jumped in coming to Ivy’s rescue.
“Then we ought to go in.” Elinor said brightly and stood to leave. Already on his feet, Matthew held out his arm and escorted his mother across the room toward the hall.
Ivy whispered her thanks when they were safely out of earshot.