In truth, she’d come to regard the woman in that portrait as a friend. Though they had never met, they shared a very common interest. Lucas. Though she had never spoken to the portrait before, Virginia had often stopped to examine it and wonder about the bride. What would Abigail have thought about Lucas’s marriage? Would she have been disappointed in how Virginia drove him away from his own house with her cool treatment?
Virginia sighed and lowered her eyes. “I didn’t want him to leave. Though it did seem best when he mentioned it.”
Yet it hadn’t been for the best. Virginia had found herself constantly thinking of Lucas. Each time a letter arrived from him, she’d started one in reply. But every time she sat down before the blank sheet of paper, her heart had stilled her hand. No words seemed right. Anything she would say would look trite on paper. Why couldn’t he return, so they might speak face to face as they’d done every day since their wedding?
She hadn’t been so lonely since Charles’s death.
The words she’d heard in the churchyard haunted her. And you need to love again. What did it mean? Had it been her heart or her head speaking to her? She longed to believe it was Charles. But how could that be? She didn’t believe in the supernatural, beyond what she found in scripture.
Charles would not want her to be lonely, to seal herself off from love and happiness. She knew that. He had loved her with his whole heart and soul. He’d not liked the idea of her mourning for him. Would she have expected him to never love again? Would it wound her to think of Charles remarrying had she been the one to die?
It didn’t. In fact, in the private thoughts of her heart, when she’d carried both boys, she’d wondered what would become of him if she died giving birth. It was a natural fear any number of women had. Death in childbirth was too commonly experienced for a woman to dismiss the idea entirely.
Virginia took a step closer to Abigail’s portrait. Tipping her head to one side, she regarded the woman’s likeness with curiosity. “Would you be hurt to know he loved again?” Virginia asked quietly.
It would be a selfish love, to wish that kind of loneliness on a person. Abigail hadn’t been a selfish person. Charles had been the opposite of selfish.
“My lady?”
Virginia nearly leaped back from the wall, her heart racing. She’d been so intent on her thoughts she hadn’t heard Gresham’s approach. She turned to him, trying to look unstartled.
“I apologize, my lady.” Gresham bowed, his bushy white brows furrowing in a contrite manner. “I did not mean to alarm you.”
“It’s quite all right, Gresham.” She tapped her chest, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m afraid I was rather occupied by my thoughts. What is it you needed?”
“My lady, I wished you to know the message has been sent on as you wished.”
“Oh.” He never bothered to search her out to confirm such a thing before. “Thank you. Is that all?”
“Not all, my lady, but I do have a personal matter I would like to discuss, if it is convenient?”
“Of course, Gresham. What is it?”
“As his lordship is not present, and I believe he would have a difficult time understanding, I wish to ask my lady if I might retire from my duties in the house.”
Virginia blinked at him, her heart sinking. “Gresham, if this is because of what Lady Vinespar said—”
He shook his head. “No, my lady. I have been thinking on it for some time. I have been a servant in this household since his lordship’s grandfather was its master. It is time, I believe, for me to allow a younger man to look after the family. It has been my greatest honor to serve in this house.”
Virginia nodded. “I understand. Very well. We will look into a replacement. Thank you for coming to me. I will make certain his lordship arranges your pension as well. You have served this family with great loyalty. Thank you. For everything.”
He bowed. “Thank you, my lady.” Then he took a step back, as if to leave.
“Gresham?” Virginia asked, bringing his attention back to her. She would never, ever confide the private matters of her marriage or family to a servant. She knew better than that. But Gresham was loyal to the family and had been for three generations.
“Yes, my lady?” He waited, his expression all politeness.
“You knew the Lady Abigail Calvert?”
The old man nodded once, his eyes softening. “I did, my lady. Before and after her marriage.”
“If you do not think me bold to ask it, what was she like?” Virginia asked.
Gresham turned to look at Abigail’s portrait, his posture straightening a touch. “She was kindness itself, my lady. Young, but thoughtful. A good mistress. She loved the family, and his lordship, with her whole heart.” He turned back to Virginia and met her eyes squarely. “But what is it you really want to know, my lady?”
Virginia felt her smile waver. Dare she ask? “I want to know what she would’ve thought of me. Of Lucas marrying again. But I don’t suppose you would know the answers to those questions.”
The butler’s shoulders relaxed and he returned her smile, his small and gentle, but genuine. “I can answer that, my lady, easy as you please. Lady Abigail, as we called her when she was a child, would have adopted you at once. She would have seen what my lord sees: a good woman in need of friendship and support, someone who took a bruden upon herself to protect others. She would have liked you a great deal.”
Virginia’s eyes watered and she looked down, tempted to disbelieve him. But his words rang with sincerity. He had no reason to lie. He could’ve easily agreed he couldn’t answer such a thing and been on his way.
“But as to the other matter, of his lordship marrying again, I know the answer to that too. I was there the night she passed. Me and Mrs. Hail, so you can ask her if you don’t trust the word of an old man.” When she looked, he was still wearing that gentle smile, and his eyes glistened too. “One of the very last things she said to my lord was to bid him to find happiness again. She knew as well as any of us how much heart he has. She knew it would nearly kill him to lose her. So she made him promise.”
The young earl in the portrait, his smile and pride, had been a man very much in love, with all his life ahead of him to adore the woman at his side. He’d achieved happiness, and then bliss with the knowledge of her pregnancy, only to have it all snatched away by scarlet fever.
“How long did it take him to be happy, Gresham?” she asked, staring at Lucas’s portrait.
“I’d say he didn’t really find his happiness again until May of this year, my lady.” Virginia’s eyes widened at his words. “When he met you,” he added, unnecessarily driving the point into her heart.
Virginia took half a step back. “Gresham, I am not searching out compliments.”
He nodded. “I know that, my lady. But the morning that he decided to ask for your hand, I found him here.” Gresham pointed to the place beneath the portrait. “He’d slept there all night. I imagine he had many concerns. Perhaps he worried it would seem unfaithful of him to love another.” He shook his head, his smile fading before he continued.
“Lady Abigail, she would never wish for him to be alone or unhappy. My lord has always had a kind heart, but for so long, he kept much of himself locked away. In the weeks since you married, he has smiled more. Laughed more. Your sons bring him joy.”
He paused and met her eyes again, his look becoming more serious. “My lady, it is not my place to speak my mind, but as I am old, and since you began this conversation, I must ask something. Would your baron want you to spend weeks, months, or years weeping over his loss, or would he hope your days would be filled with joy and laughter?”
She ought to be offended. She knew she shouldn’t even entertain the thought of answering such a personal question. The division in their class, between servant and employer, created an enormous gap that ought never to be breached by a conversation of such intimacy.
But Virginia found herself speaking, a hand covering her he
art, feeling the truth behind each word as it left her lips. “Charles was a vibrant man, kind and generous to all he knew. It would hurt him to think his memory prevented that for me.” She sucked in a deep breath, meeting Gresham’s steady gaze with surprise. “But it hasn’t even been six months, Gresham.”
He straightened his shoulders; his face became impassive once more. Gresham was her butler, not her confidante.
“My lady, where are the rules of grief written? And who do we offend when we write our own?” he asked. Then he bowed, turned, and walked away as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Virginia stared after him, her thoughts spinning.
Society dictated she mourn her husband for a year. But society was already likely offended by her hasty marriage.
But here in the country, at Annesbury Park, what care did she have for society?
Virginia shook the thought away and continued to the nursery, hoping the boys would have need of her and she might count on them for distraction.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Lucas exited the printer’s shop with a book wrapped in brown paper. He couldn’t wait to see Edward’s face when he showed the boy what he’d done with his drawings. He hoped it would be appreciated, perhaps even inspiring for the young artist. No one had ever encouraged the artistic endeavors of Lucas’s brother, Marcus. Not as they should have. If Edward truly loved to draw and paint, and he did show a great aptitude for it, Lucas would do all he could to encourage the talent to grow.
He took in a deep breath of London’s humid air, for once appreciating the cooler weather. It wouldn’t help anyone’s crops, but it kept the stench of the great city bearable. Like many of London’s wealthy citizenry, he preferred the country to the city in the warmer months.
Longing for Annesbury Park had become Lucas’s permanent state. There was little to occupy him in London that could not be accomplished elsewhere, especially with Parliament out and most of his friends gone to their own homes. He would rather be in the countryside, visiting Thomas Gilbert, riding about the countryside…
Lucas sighed and quickened his pace, trying to outrun his own lies.
He wanted to be fishing with the boys, inspecting their castle in the trees, taking them on the picnic he had long ago promised and never delivered. He missed Edward’s delivery of drawings. He missed Phillip’s serious questions and rare smile.
But it was Virginia he missed the most.
He took the steps two at a time when he arrived at his townhouse, which was now his mother’s permanent residence. She had begun talking of setting up house elsewhere, before the season began, so as not to be in Virginia’s way. The idea of her leaving, of hearing the queer echo of emptiness in another grand house, settled like a stone in Lucas’s stomach.
The butler took his hat and gloves. “My lord, there is a gentleman here to see you. He has been waiting a quarter of an hour and said he would wait until you arrived.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. “I am not expecting anyone. His name?”
“A Mr. Ewan Snowley, my lord.”
Tucking his package for Edward beneath his arm, Lucas gave a nod. “In my study?”
“Your mother is with him, my lord, in the morning room. She rather insisted on giving him tea.” The butler’s eyebrows twitched, a near-enough sign of disapproval. This butler had been engaged by his mother years ago, but he never had accustomed himself to her somewhat unorthodox manners.
“Thank you. I’ll see to him at once.” Lucas only just restrained his smile. His mother wouldn’t care that she hadn’t been properly introduced to someone. If they came to her home, she’d still be the best hostess they’d ever had the privilege of meeting.
Lucas went up the stairs, puzzling over the visitor’s identity, pushing thoughts of the children and Virginia to the back of his mind. Any diversion would be a welcome one, truly.
He entered the morning room, a comfortable chamber obviously stamped with his mother’s unique sense of style. She had turned the room into a Grecian oasis, or at least the English version of it. Pillars, urns, pastoral scenes in paintings, and furniture with scroll-work and Ionic columns supporting them all.
The gentleman rose when he entered, his hat in one hand and a cup in the other. He was nearly as tall as Lucas, though perhaps several years younger. The cut of his clothing was fine enough to mark him as a successful member of the gentry. He bowed.
Lucas returned the gesture, but went to his mother’s side before speaking, dropping a kiss to her cheek as he always did when greeting her. “Mother. You look well this afternoon.”
Her eyes sparkled up at him. “I look well every afternoon. Most of the day long, in fact. Lucas, may I present Mr. Snowley. I met him today in our entry hall. He says he must speak with you but will not tell me why.”
“Is that so? Mr. Snowley, as we have never met before, I find myself very curious as to why you’ve come.”
Mr. Snowley’s expression remained neutral, giving nothing away. “I beg your pardon, my lord. It is not my habit to call on people in such a manner, but I felt you would wish to speak to me straight away. We are not in the same social circles, so I could not beg an introduction anywhere else. But I come on a most important matter, my lord, concerning your wife.”
Virginia? Lucas nearly blurted her name aloud. “How do you know Lady Calvert, Mr. Snowley?”
The man, still standing, hastily put the cup down and held his hat in both hands. “I am from Suffolk, my lord. I am—I was familiar with the late baron’s family. I—” He broke off and looked to Lady Pamela Calvert, hesitating.
“You may speak freely, sir. The dowager countess will torture whatever information you impart from me if you do not.” Though he said the words lightly, Lucas knew his impatience was hardly masked.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Snowley spoke again, more rapidly. “I was spending an evening out with friends, my lord, when I recognized a member of the baron’s family, Mr. Macon. I thought I had better go and do the polite thing, but as I approached him I became aware that he had been in his cups. He was saying things I will not repeat before a lady.” He nodded at Lucas’s mother briefly. “Mr. Macon, apart from deriding you and your family, also uttered threats. I gathered that he owes a great deal of money to someone and he seemed to think he could make your wife give him the money to pay it.”
Lucas clenched the back of his mother’s chair in both hands. “What did he say, Mr. Snowley? The man attempted to take my wife to court to obtain control of his late brother’s estate, but he did not succeed.”
“I cannot swear these were his exact words, my lord. He said something like, ‘If I get hold of the little brats, she will pay me anything I like.’ Then he laughed, and he said, ‘I’ll have the money by next week.’ Then he left.”
Sparing a quick glance down at his mother, Lucas met the man’s eyes again. He saw no deception, no mark or reason to suspect Mr. Snowley told anything but the truth. In fact, the man’s expression betrayed his worry.
“This was last evening?”
“Yes, my lord.”
His mother reached up and covered his hand with hers. Lucas looked down at her, his blood running cold.
“Go, son. At once.”
Without hesitation, he scooped up Edward’s package and left the room, calling over his shoulder, “Thank you, Mr. Snowley!”
Hurry. The word reverberated through his very soul. Virginia needs you.
¤
Standing in Lucas’s study, staring out at the gloomy skies, Virginia took in a deep breath. The room smelled like him. She’d never allowed herself to notice before, to think about it. But Lucas carried with him the scents of sandalwood and cinnamon, and sometimes a hint of leather to him, too, after he’d been riding or working at his desk for long hours. It was a unique blend of warm, comforting things, which really quite suited him.
Leaning against the window pane, Virginia stared down the road, willing him to return.
They were half
way through August. Why had he been gone so long? More than a month. She needed him to come back, to stand before her. Virginia needed to look him in the eye, to see again what she now told herself had been imagined. She needed to know, to really understand, how he felt about her.
She suspected she knew his heart. If she could see him again, if she could stand before him for just a moment more, she might finally understand her own.
Virginia had entered the study with two purposes in mind. The first was to take refuge and bask in the silence of her mother’s absence. The woman’s visit, her continual insistence that Virginia conform to her opinion on every subject, had exhausted Virginia completely. Bidding farewell to her that morning had been a relief.
The second reason for being in the study was to write Lucas a letter. She hadn’t received anything from him in well over a week, which was all her own fault for not writing sooner. She wanted to rectify the situation.
The paper she held bore her rather pathetic attempts.
To My Lord, Lucas Calvert,
All is well at Annesbury Park. The rain continues to fall, my mother at last concluded her visit, and we miss you.
After that, the pen had rather gotten away from her.
Edward asks continually when you will come home. Phillip wonders whether we ought to come to London to see if you need help. They both want to show you the beautiful castle you had built for them. They both now call you Papa when my mother is not near enough to hear them. She disapproves, of course. But I do not.
I miss you. I cannot lie. I miss our conversations over breakfast when you always try to make me take one more bite than I intended. I noticed, Lucas. Thank you for looking after me. I miss when you find me in the hall, or in the sitting room, or in the music room. You always have something to discuss, but I wonder now if half those things were made up. I think there were several times I sought your opinion on matters when it was not necessary, making excuses to speak to you.
I miss sitting across the table from you at supper, talking of our day. You always make certain that the boys are happy, that I am content.
The Earl and His Lady: A Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 4) Page 23