“Thank you for coming, my lord,” Middleton said, replacing his spectacles. “I… I admit I was uncertain you would come but, for once, I believe I can do you some good.”
“You mean unlike that time when you told me my father had cut me out of his will?”
Middleton blanched and Bunty squeezed his hand.
“Mr Middleton was only doing his job, Ludo. It was not his choice.”
Middleton sent her a look of profound gratitude and nodded. “Quite so, my lord. I was sorry to do it, and for any other… er… unpleasantness that has passed through my hands over the years.”
Ludo snorted but said nothing.
“Bearing that in mind, I beg you to remember that your father is my employer and that he strictly forbade me to give you any details of… of the inheritance your mother left you.”
“Inheritance?” Ludo echoed, sounding stunned. “But there was nothing. Father always took great delight in reminding me I had nothing of hers….”
He broke off and Bunty firmed her grip on his hand.
“That was untrue, I regret to say,” Middleton said with a heavy sigh. “Though it would not have been yours until now, until you took a wife. Those were the terms of the will.”
Mr Middleton reached down beside him and lifted a box, placing it on the table before him. “Firstly, there are these personal effects which your mother wished you to have.”
Bunty watched Ludo, saw his throat working, saw the moment he gathered his courage and reached for the box. He placed it carefully on his lap and lifted the lid.
Inside were two small paintings. One was of his mother as a young woman, a beautiful smiling portrait with vivid blue eyes and soft brown curls.
“You have her eyes,” Bunty said, hearing her voice quaver.
Ludo blinked hard and nodded, handing her the painting to look beneath.
“Oh,” he said.
Here was a painting of a man. A big, rugged, pirate of a man, with thick black curls and dark, laughing eyes, a full sensuous mouth, and an air of disreputable charm.
“Your father,” Middleton said, smiling. “I believe there are details of where he might be contacted, should you wish to do so?”
“He’s still alive?” Ludo said, clearly astonished. “But Bramwell said—” He cursed and shook his head. “Idiot.”
“Aren’t you glad you came?” Bunty asked gently, watching his face.
“I am,” he said, staring at the portrait of his father, of a man who bore a striking resemblance to Ludo. He reached for his mother’s portrait, and Bunty felt her heart constrict as he touched a reverent finger to her lovely face. “Thank you, Middleton. I… I cannot tell you how happy I am to have these. I’m grateful.”
Middleton returned a look full of regret. “I am only happy to have brought you something pleasant for a change, my lord.”
“Not your fault,” Ludo said gruffly, putting the paintings back in the box with care. He stood and held his hand out to the man. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll bid you—”
“Oh! No, my lord, that is not all.”
Ludo frowned at him. “It isn’t?”
Middleton shook his head, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “No, Lord Courtenay. There is the matter of your mother’s house, and a bequest of… let me see, with interest… yes, nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty-seven pounds.
Ludo sat down again with such a crash Bunty feared for the chair.
“H-House?” he said faintly. “Nine thousand…?”
“Nine thousand, eight hundred and twenty-seven pounds, ten shillings and sixpence, if you wish the precise figure,” Middleton repeated helpfully.
“Breathe, Ludo,” Bunty said, reaching for his hand again, as he’d gone a rather odd colour.
He clutched at her hand so tightly she almost protested.
“Where is the house?” Bunty said, hoping it was Ludo’s childhood home.
“In Kent, Lady Courtenay. I understand it has been in Lord Courtenay’s mother’s family for generations. It is in good order, having had caretakers look after it in the interim. I took the liberty of asking them to prepare for your arrival, having assumed you would wish to visit the property.”
“The caretakers,” Ludo asked, his voice hoarse. “Who?”
“A Mr and Mrs Widdershins.”
“Widdy,” he said, audibly choked now. “Oh, good Lord. I never… I never imagined….” He turned to Bunty, his eyes shining with emotion. “A home, Bunty. We have a home. My home!”
“Oh, Ludo, I’m so happy for you.” Bunty turned back to Mr Middleton, hardly able to get the words out. “Thank you.”
The man looked a little overcome himself, but nodded, obviously pleased.
Ludo stood and held out his hand to Mr Middleton, who was now looking a little stunned, no doubt used to less than polite treatment at the hands of Ludo’s family.
“Thank you, Middleton. Thank you so much, and I do understand… why you didn’t tell me before.”
Middleton shook his hand firmly. “I have wished to these many years, my lord, only….”
“No need to explain,” Ludo said kindly. “He’s your employer. I understand, truly.”
Middleton frowned, looking extremely displeased at this fact.
“He is, and I am not in a position to consider retirement, not with five daughters still unmarried,” he added with a sigh. “However, should you ever be in a position to… to….”
He flushed then, such an extraordinary sight against his serious visage that Bunty’s eyebrows rose.
“You would like to come and work for Lord Courtenay?” she guessed.
Ludo stared at her in astonishment and then looked back to Middleton. “You’re not serious? You’d leave my father’s employ for mine?”
“In a heartbeat,” Middleton said calmly.
Ludo’s incredulity made Bunty’s chest hurt. He’d truly had no idea that there was anyone who would believe in him. Yet anyone who had been in his company for any length of time must have been able to see the goodness that shone from him, the honour and integrity.
Ludo frowned, considering this. “Middleton, I have a business venture that is showing signs of promise. It needs a firm hand, a good business brain to get it off the ground. I also have… nine thousand, eight hundred, and—”
“Twenty-seven pounds, ten shillings and sixpence,” Middleton supplied for him.
“Precisely.” Ludo nodded. “Can I afford you?”
Middleton grinned at him. “I believe that you can, my lord.”
Chapter 7
“Wherein a house in the country.”
14th December 1820. London.
They returned home and began packing at once as Ludo was beside himself with excitement. He gave his landlady notice on his rooms and arranged for a carriage to collect them and their luggage at nine the following morning. Packing didn’t take long. Besides a wardrobe that certainly rivalled Bunty’s for quantity, and most certainly for style, Ludo had few belongings. Bunty had not yet had the belongings which were a part of her dowry sent over, as Ludo’s rooms simply had not the space for them. She was cross, in fact, that her parents had still not visited once since her marriage. The only word she’d had were a few tearful letters from her mother and a rather sternly worded note from her father, which gruffly reminded her she could return home at any time, should she come to realise the gravity of the mistake she’d made. Bunty could not blame them for their fears, but she could blame them for being ashamed and not coming to visit her.
She therefore took great delight in writing and telling them both how blissfully happy she was, how Ludo’s business had the makings of a terrific success, and how they were about to move into their new home in the country, where Ludo would keep her in fine style, thank you very much. The letter included a pointed reminder that Papa had not announced their marriage, and a firm suggestion that he do so, at once. She did not invite them for Christmas. She would invite them soon, naturally, but not yet. Perhaps E
aster, but only if they swore to be polite to her husband.
Bunty looked around to see if there was anything left to pack, finding only the two lovely paintings on the wall. Smiling, she moved towards them and took the one of the elegant house off the wall. She looked up as Ludo came in from outside, bringing the scent of cold air with him and brushing snow from his hair. He ran to her and swept her up, kissing her hard and making her squeal with the press of his cold lips and icy hands upon her warm skin.
“Warm me up, wife. I’m chilled to the marrow.”
“Eek! Get off me, you’re freezing,” she complained, though half-heartedly.
He stilled, looking at the picture she had clung to valiantly during his boisterous entrance.
“That’s it,” he said, smiling at her. “That’s home.”
Bunty nodded, thrilled that she’d been correct.
“It’s so beautiful, Ludo. I can’t wait to live there, with you and… and you painted it, didn’t you? And all the pictures for the puzzles. Why ever didn’t you tell me?” she exclaimed crossly as he gave a sheepish nod. “I’m so proud of you. Imagine having an artist for a husband!”
“You don’t mind?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and looking awkward.
Bunty stared at him, perplexed. “Why would I mind?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not very… manly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, whoever…?” She sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. Darling, if ever something as stupid as that thought crosses your mind again, would you just investigate the source of it before you believe it? I feel confident supposing it was something Farringdon, or one of your ghastly brothers told you. Am I correct?”
Ludo frowned, considering this and then his face cleared. “Yes, by God. How―”
Bunty pressed a finger to his lips. “Did it never cross your mind that all the great artists are men? Women don’t get a look in.”
Ludo huffed. “Well, obviously, but that’s hardly what this is. This is dabbling with watercolours, which is exactly what young ladies do, and your Great-Aunt Mary.”
“I don’t have a Great-Aunt Mary.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I do, and you’re wrong. Ludo, you’re not dabbling. I may be biased, but I do have an eye for a good painting. I met Henry Barbour once and he told me so. What’s more, I believe these are more than good. I think they’re excellent, and I know you ought to take it seriously.”
“You met Henry Barbour?” Ludo’s eyes had lit with awe, and he appeared to have completely disregarded everything else she’d said.
“I did, yes. Father is a distant cousin of the Marquess of Winterbourne, who is one of Mr Barbour’s closest friends. We were there one summer, and he introduced me.”
“He’s not the slightest bit mad, is he?”
Bunty shook her head at once.
“Goodness, no. Very shy, rather, and somewhat eccentric, to be sure. He dislikes people on the whole, but he was charming and spoke to me at length about his work, and about some of the others I’d seen at the Royal Academy’s summer exhibition. Indeed, I think I should show him some of yours. Perhaps I shall send one to him,” she mused.
All the colour drained from Ludo’s face. “Oh, no. Not on your life. He’s… he’s a genius. You’ll not go sending my paltry offerings to show him.”
Bunty sighed and set his painting aside with care before moving back to him. She wrapped her arms about his waist and stared up at him.
“I’m fat,” she said baldly. “I’m fat and ungainly, and too tall.”
His face darkened with fury.
“And I’m the Queen of Sheba!” he retorted. “What the devil has made you say so? You’re gorgeous, Bunty. Surely you know I can’t keep my bloody hands off you? I’ve been half in love with you for… for years, wishing and hoping such a beautiful creature could be mine.”
Bunty swallowed down the emotion that made her throat feel tight on hearing those impassioned words. Instead, she reached up and touched his cheek.
“You’re an artist, Ludo. You’re a clever, talented man, and you will be a great success. I am so proud of you. I believe in you. The only thing left to do is believe in yourself.”
“That was a dirty trick,” he grumbled, but he pulled her close and she smiled up at him.
“It made my point, though. Other people have always given me their opinions, far too freely, and I always believed them. Yet, you make me see they were wrong, terribly, cruelly wrong. Let me do the same for you, love. That wretch, Farringdon, your brothers, they all made you feel worthless, and that’s so far from the truth.”
He let out a breath and nodded.
“Very well,” he said, still a little gruff. “But it will be some time before I have the courage to show anything to Henry Barbour, let me assure you.”
“That’s all right. We have plenty of time.”
***
The journey to Russell House was cold and tedious, but neither Ludo nor Bunty complained. Buoyed by excitement and distracted by each other, the time passed pleasantly as Ludo invented ways to keep Bunty warm. He was very good at it.
They worried as the snow fell with increasing enthusiasm: large, soft flakes tumbling from the white sky overhead and laying still and pristine over the beautiful landscape.
“How lovely it is,” Bunty said, staring out of the window.
“It is. It makes me wish I had my paints to hand but, all the same, I wish it would leave off until we’re sat in front of a warm fire.”
“We’ll get there.” Bunty ducked back under his arm and luxuriated in his warmth. Her husband was better than any hot brick for keeping warm on a long journey.
Despite being slowed by the snow, they arrived at midday. Ludo jumped out of the carriage, reaching back to help Bunty, and then gazed up at the house in wonder.
“My word, but it’s lovely. I feel like I’m dreaming. Is it really ours?”
“It is,” Bunty said, enjoying the pleasure in his eyes and his obvious happiness.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” he said with a laugh. “In my memories it’s a vast, cavernous place, but it is every bit as beautiful.”
Bunty laughed. “Well, I don’t think it’s shrunk, love, more that you’ve grown. It is beautiful, though.”
It was. A seven hundred-year-old medieval hall house overlooking the rolling Kentish countryside, the place was graceful and ancient. Elegant arched windows and an arched front door gave it a romantic feel, especially now, with its long roof dusted with snow and the chimneys coiling smoke into the sky and promising a warm welcome.
The front door opened as they walked towards it, and an older couple appeared. The lady was short and squat with iron grey hair, and a fierce expression that softened when she laid eyes on Ludo. She reached for her apron and pressed it to her mouth to muffle a little cry of delight.
“Widdy?” Ludo said, incredulous even though he’d known the old housekeeper would still be here. “Is that really you?”
“Oh,” the woman said, trying valiantly to curtsey and not to cry, nor to run and hug Ludo as she clearly wished to do. “Oh, welcome home, my lord.”
To Bunty’s delight, Ludo had no such restraint and gave her a hug, swift and enthusiastic.
“You’ve not changed a bit,” he said, delighted and earning himself a snort of disbelief. “Nor you, Mr Widdershins. I feel like a boy again.”
“Ah, and we have missed you, my lord. You and your Mama both, God rest her soul. My poor Agnes was heartbroken when they took you away. Never forgot you, she never. Always said a prayer for you on Sunday and hoped you’d marry and come back home again.”
Ludo swallowed hard and hugged Mrs Widdershins again, and this time she burst into tears.
“Oh. I knew you was unhappy,” she wailed. “I knew that horrid man didn’t treat you right, or else how would such a good boy have gone off and been so very wicked?”
She blushed an
d clamped her mouth shut, realising too late she’d just insulted the marquess and Ludo both, but Ludo only laughed.
“No, don’t stop there, Widdy. You’re right, of course. About all of it. I was a devilish fellow, to be sure, but I am home now, thank God, and I mean to behave, I promise. I must thank you, though, for never forgetting me and for keeping me in your prayers, and certainly for keeping the place so beautifully. It’s just how I remember it. And now, before I am accused of forgetting my manners entirely… this lovely creature is my wife. Bunty, please meet Mr and Mrs Widdershins. Mr and Mrs Widdershins, my wife, Lady Courtenay.”
***
Ludo was as enthusiastic as a boy whilst Widdy—as she insisted Bunty address her—showed them around the house. At every turn, Ludo exclaimed as some memory returned to him of his darling mama and the happy times they’d had here together. Bunty was overcome with joy for him, and so relieved that his memories had in no way been diminished or overshadowed by what had come next. He clearly felt no ill will towards his mother for the situation in which she had left him, despite how awful it had been. To Bunty, this showed just how good-hearted and generous her husband was and, impossibly, she felt herself fall more in love with him with every passing moment.
Bunty watched as he laughed with Widdy, recalling an incident when he’d eaten an entire tray of jam tarts and then sworn blind that he hadn’t despite the sticky evidence around his person that called him a liar.
“Ah, but you was sorry for it, and begged my pardon so nicely,” Widdy said, dabbing at her eyes with her apron. “I couldn’t be cross with you.”
Smiling, Bunty wondered if the Ratched sisters were having as lovely a time as she was, and if they would ever be so happy. How strange that their avaricious plans had turned out so wonderfully for her and Ludo. As it was Christmas, or very near, Bunty sent them a silent thank you, for without them, she might never have married Ludo, and that would have been a tragedy.
Finally, Widdy showed them to their own room, the one that had once belonged to Ludo’s mother.
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