Lord Rathbone thought he distinctly heard Alayna gasp aloud, but could not say for certain.
"Are you quite sure you are up to such a fete, Mother?" he began. "After all, the wedding is less than ten days away. I should think that will be send-off enough."
"Oh, fiddlesticks! Surely you recall the grand affairs your father and I used to host when you were a boy. And the delightful fairs we held on the castle lawn." Suddenly, she leaned forward in her chair. "Why, we should have a fair, as well! There's been nothing like our fairs since your father passed away. We've plenty of time to put it all together!" Excitement shone on the old lady's face. "Mr. Stevens could help spread the word. And you, my boy, could post notices the next time you go up to Chester."
"Now, Mother, I hardly think . . . " Rathbone began, his dark head shaking in protest.
But suddenly Alayna spoke up. And as usual she was of a differing opinion from him. "I think it a lovely idea, Ford," she began. "Aunt Millicent is right, a fair would be great fun! If nothing else, the planning of it will give us something to do while the bad weather persists."
"And what if the bad weather refuses to let up? All our planning will have gone for naught. Unless the bridge is repaired, no one will be able to attend our grand affair."
"Oh, Rutherford, don't be such a downpin," his mother said fussily. "If Alayna wishes to have a ball, and a fair, then we shall have both!"
His lips pressed into a thin line, Lord Rathbone angrily exited the drawing room. That both his mother and Alayna's heads were already bent together excitedly discussing the upcoming events, seemed like one more slap in the face to him. And, Lord Rathbone was not accustomed to being slapped in the face.
Chapter Eight
“I Am in Dire Need of Drawing Materials”
Chelsea and Lady Rathbone spent the next several days working diligently on their plans for the fair, and for the ball, which would be held in the castle's grand hall the night before the wedding. In all her life, Chelsea had never attended a fancy dress ball and watching the elaborate plans for this one unfold, she could not help but wish that she might be on hand to attend. But of course that was not likely, for surely Alayna would have returned to the castle by then and Chelsea would be on her way back to London.
The fair, she felt certain, would also be great fun. As a girl at school, Chelsea clearly remembered Alayna excitedly telling her friends at Miss Farringdon's Academy all about the lovely summer fairs held at Castle Rathbone. Aside from various games of chance, there would be jugglers, and knife-throwers, pie-men, a puppet show, plenty of food and drink, and country dancing.
With Lady Rathbone providing suggestions for the wording of it, Chelsea drew up a notice for the fair which she intended to take to an engraver in Chester and have copies printed up which would be posted all around the countryside.
By Sunday of that week Lord Rathbone had overseen the rebuilding of the bridge that spanned the castle moat, though the water beneath was still greatly swollen from the heavy rains that had fallen, filling the cobbled enclosure to the brim.
At breakfast on Sunday morning, Chelsea was inordinately surprised when Lord Rathbone announced that he meant to accompany Chelsea to church services later that day.
"We've a small church in the village near my home in Honduras," he said matter-of-factly. "I often attend services there."
"Umm," Chelsea murmured, not sure if she liked the idea of him accompanying her or not. Carrying the lie she was living into the very portals of God's house was difficult enough without having the added burden of Lord Rathbone beside her.
"You will mention our fair to Mr. Stevens?" asked Lady Rathbone. "Perhaps he will announce the news from the pulpit."
"I'm sure he will, Mother," Rathbone said flatly.
"Well, you might show a bit more enthusiasm," she scolded. "As a boy, you used to greatly enjoy our fairs. You and Alayna both did. Surely you recall the time Alayna tossed the ball and landed you in a barrel of suds." Lady Rathbone laughed, referring to a game played often at country fairs where the victim perches on a platform and is subjected to a ducking when the rope holding him up is released after a perfect toss of a ball.
Glancing across the table at Chelsea, Lord Rathbone's lips pressed into a thin line. "I can't say as I recall the incident," he muttered.
Feeling a bit mischievous, Chelsea said, "Well, I do. And giving you a much-needed dunking was simply delicious!"
"Humph."
A moment of silence ensued, then Lady Rathbone said, "You must pay close attention to the vicar's sermon today, Rutherford. Your attitude is quite remiss these days."
Chelsea squirmed. Lord Rathbone's attitude may be remiss, but there was no denying that she was the one at fault. Her deceptive behaviour and continued resistance to him was clearly the cause of his ill-temper. To say truth, she was beginning to feel increasingly guilty about deceiving him. Lord Rathbone may have a short temper and be arrogant to a fault, but he was still the most intelligent and honourable man Chelsea had ever met. All on his own, he had accomplished a great deal in his adopted country.
Glancing across the table at him now, she felt her breath grow short. The gentleman would make a . . . a wonderful husband for Alayna. Chelsea could only hope Alayna would realize how lucky she was to be marrying such a man.
* * * *
After Dulcie had helped Chelsea dress for services that morning, she topped off Alayna's lovely suit of blue serge with a close-fitting casquet bonnet that sported a half veil. The bonnet was not one of Chelsea's own designs, but nonetheless, it was quite charming. Nestling it onto her upswept coiffure, she realized with a fresh surge of guilt that she had yet to make good on her word to Mr. Merribone. In the entire fortnight she had been at the castle she had not yet posted a single new bonnet design to him as she'd promised she would.
Descending the stairs to meet Rutherford in the foyer, she vowed that in the coming days, she'd spend less time in Lady Rathbone's delightful company and devote a few hours of each day to thinking up new bonnet designs for Mr. Merribone. With the bridge now serviceable again, she could go up to Chester herself and purchase the new drawing materials and paper she needed. She lifted her chin with resolve just as she reached the hall and caught sight of Lord Rathbone standing there awaiting her.
Meeting his gaze, she noted his stern countenance soften at once.
"Alayna," he breathed, "you look . . . lovely. Positively lovely."
Chelsea smiled sweetly. "Why, thank you. You look . . ." Her sweeping gaze took in his smart blue superfine coat, thigh-hugging buckskin breeches and polished black Hessians. "Quite handsome yourself."
"Thank you, dear. I daresay, we make a grand looking couple."
Chelsea thrilled to his words as she curled a gloved hand around the arm he offered and they stepped onto the sun-dappled drive in front of the castle.
Following services, Chelsea was aware of the tremulous flutter she felt in her middle every time Lord Rathbone smilingly introduced her to the ladies and gentlemen he was acquainted with, as his future bride. She could not deny that a part of her, a large part of her, wished that what he was saying were true.
But of course she was being silly. Once Alayna returned and the perfidy uncovered, she would never see Lord Rathbone again, nor Alayna, for that matter. And that, she told herself, was the real reason she was suffering through this torment. To once and for all be rid of Alayna Marchmont's interference in her life. She drew in a long breath. It would indeed feel good to no longer live under the constant threat of exposure, to simply live her life, to earn her keep, to . . . she glanced at Lord Rathbone as they headed for the handsome Marchmont coach . . . to . . . she had nearly said, to never see Lord Rathbone again, but those words caught in her throat.
With effort, she pushed down the roiling bubble of emotion that suddenly swelled her breast and that made her want to . . . to . . . she was unable to complete that thought, as well.
Upon returning to the castle, they, along with
Lady Rathbone, partook of a light luncheon, then Chelsea felt strangely disappointed when, as usual, Lord Rathbone disappeared into the library for the remainder of the day.
* * * *
The following morning the sky again dawned blue and sunny. Chelsea actually awoke to the sound of birds chirping and trilling as they perched on the wide stone sill outside the narrow slit of window in her bedchamber. Her bare feet hit the floor with determination. Today, she would make the short journey into Chester to purchase the necessary drawing materials so she could make good on her word to Mr. Merribone.
"I think you should go into Chester today, Alayna," Lady Rathbone announced almost at once after they had all sat down to breakfast.
"Excuse me?" Feeling a sudden flush of alarm color her cheeks, Chelsea stared at the woman wide-eyed. How did she know . . .
"I shall be driving into the village today," Lord Rathbone said absently, "you may come with me, Alayna."
"Splendid!" his mother chimed in. "You may accompany Alayna to the engraver's with the notice about our fair."
For the drive into town, Chelsea, Lord Rathbone and Dulcie climbed into a rather shabby-looking carriage that had recently been repaired. As the poorly-matched team struggled to prance smartly in front of them, Lord Rathbone kept up a running discourse regarding the things he still intended to accomplish at the castle before he departed England.
"I intend to call on a land agent in Chester this morning," he said. "I am counting on him to recommend a competent bailiff to me, whom I shall hire straightaway and then see the man settled in before we leave. With the bridge now coach-worthy, and the outbuildings nearly all repaired, that leaves only cutting away the brush that's overtaken the bailey and lower castle walls. And then, of course, there is the matter of clipping the lawn and putting up the necessary stalls for the fair. I take it Mother sent along a list of supplies she needs for the ball?"
"Yes," Chelsea replied. "And, I . . . I have a few errands I should like to tend to myself in town."
"Since you are familiar with Chester, I had thought to let you off at the Rows while I look after my business. By separating to take care of our respective errands, we shall make better use of our time. I should like to be back at the castle before luncheon, which will give me a long afternoon to complete my work. Is that agreeable with you?" He flicked a glance at Chelsea.
She feared all color had drained from her face. Alone? He was leaving her alone with Dulcie to find her own way about Chester? Her heart hammered frantically as she fought to reply. "I . . . o-of course, that is quite agreeable with me," she said weakly. "But," she hurried on, "what about the packages? I rather expect I shall have a good deal to carry, more than poor Dulcie could manage."
Lord Rathbone turned to stare at her. "Have you gone completely daft, Alayna? Simply give over your list to the proper merchant, and I shall send a servant back this afternoon to collect the parcels. You don't think I intend hauling a load of fresh lumber atop the coach, do you?"
A nervous giggle escaped Chelsea. "No. H-how silly of me. But, I-I should like to bring my drawing materials back with me," she added in a rush.
"Drawing materials?" He slapped the reins over the backs of the mismatched pair in an effort to urge the cumbersome beasts along at a swifter pace. "Since when are you of an artistic bent?"
Chelsea could not think what had prompted her to blurt out that piece of incriminating evidence. She knew very well that Alayna was not an artist, as, apparently, her cousin did. "Uh . . . they are for Dulcie, my abigail. Today is her birthday and I should like to get her something special. Therefore you can surely understand my . . . my dire need of drawing materials."
When Dulcie opened her mouth, Chelsea kicked the poor girl's ankle.
"Ah, I see. Come to think on it, I had meant to purchase a gift for my housekeeper. Mrs. O'Riley is a lovely woman, you will like her," he continued. "Despite the fact that she is Irish, she is every bit as competent as any Englishwoman trained in the household arts that I have dealt with. While I'm here, I expect it would also be a good idea to purchase small gifts for others of the household staff," he added, thinking aloud. "I regret Boxing Day came and went last year and I had nothing for them."
"You generally give your servants gifts." It was more a statement than a question. "What about the slaves? Do you also give them something?"
Glancing down at her, Rathbone half-laughed. "I daresay you have developed a soft heart, my girl. I admit I never expected such an admirable quality to develop in you."
On Alayna's behalf, Chelsea begged to differ. Alayna may have her faults, but she could be quite generous, at times. "I merely think it fair that if you give your servants gifts, you should treat the slaves equally as well."
Still grinning, he said, "For the most part, the slaves are my servants. You will see how it is once you are there, Alayna." He returned his attention to his driving. "And furthermore you may rest assured, that all of my slaves are treated fairly."
Once they'd arrived inside the walled city of Chester, Chelsea made every effort to stay alert to the sights about her. Making note of the imposing lacy-spired cathedral, and numerous half-timbered buildings, she hoped that in the event she had to walk a great distance in order to find her way back to the coach, she could avoid becoming hopelessly lost. As it turned out, when Lord Rathbone turned into the square that marked the entrance to the Rows, she soon saw that she had nothing to fear.
All the shops that she could possibly want to visit were clustered together, nay, stacked one atop another, in a riot of gay profusion.
"I shall leave the coach here," Lord Rathbone said, handing the reins to the livered footman who had ridden the short distance from the castle in the small dickey in the rear. "Will an hour be sufficient for you to complete your errands?" he asked Chelsea.
Wearing a very relieved smile on her lips, Chelsea quickly nodded assent. "Indeed. An hour will do quite nicely."
"Very well, then."
Chelsea stood for a long moment watching Lord Rathbone's tall figure disappear into the busy crowd milling purposefully about the colorful marketplace. When he was gone, she involuntarily inhaled a sigh of relief. For a very brief moment, she toyed with the idea of losing herself as well in the crowd. Permanently.
She just as quickly dismissed the notion. Dulcie was with her and to leave Lady Rathbone hanging in the lurch, and Lord Rathbone to worry over her sudden disappearance would never do.
In less than an hour, she had delivered her shopping lists to the appropriate merchants and selected and purchased the drawing materials she needed, and was on her way back to the coach. Through the surge on the flagway surrounding the cluster of horses and equipages left awaiting their occupants, she caught a quick glimpse of Lord Rathbone striding toward the curb. At the sight of his now all too familiar face, her heart lifted. She bit her lip to quell the rising tide of emotion that of its own accord swelled within her. He was indeed a wonderful man. Surely Alayna would fall in love with him once she saw him again.
On the way back to the castle, Lord Rathbone was again as talkative as he had been earlier.
"I met with a Mr. Wells," he told Chelsea. "He was able to recommend a highly accomplished bailiff to me." Rathbone sounded quite pleased. "I shall meet with the man straightaway. This is certain to solve Mother's management problem. Though I rather expect the gentleman will serve more as a steward than a mere bailiff," he went on, thinking aloud. "Mr. Wells seemed to think the candidate sufficiently qualified. I do hope things proceeded as smoothly for you in town as they did for me, Alayna."
Chelsea nodded. "I took the announcement for our fair to the engraver. He said he would have the placards printed up by day after tomorrow. You will send someone to collect them, won't you? And I should also like to have them posted."
"I shall be happy to take care of that for you, Alayna." Lord Rathbone smiled magnanimously. "I am certain the fair will prove a great success. You and Mother have worked quite industriously." He tu
rned to press a smile upon Chelsea. "I will admit," he added in a laughing tone, "I am quite looking forward to the festivities. And to the ball as well. It's been an age since I attended such an affair."
Chelsea cast a gaze upward, her eyes drinking in the handsome lines of his aristocratic profile. "There are no fancy dress affairs in Honduras?" she asked.
He turned another smile on her. "Not of the type you are accustomed to. Oh, we have our little assemblies and such. There are a number of English couples living in Honduras. In fact, there are five in our village alone. Lord and Lady Bridleshelm only recently arrived from Africa. Bridleshelm acquired the sugar plantation at the foot of the hill, down from me. And there are a number of other planters whose wives accompanied them. I recall writing to you about that young Mr. Spencer, who originally hailed from Birmingham, I believe. He recently married the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Fisk. It was our first wedding in the village. English wedding, that is. There are plenty of couples who jump the broom."
"Jump the broom?" Chelsea could not quell a laugh.
Rathbone joined in. "It's a marriage ritual of the Negroes. To seal their wedding vows, the young couple jumps backward over a broom handle. I've no idea why or how the custom originated," he added, with a laugh.
Chelsea relaxed. She had grown to love hearing him talk of his home. It all sounded so foreign, so thrilling, like making a fresh new start with one's life. Gazing up at him with wonder, she held her breath, hoping he would continue, though not daring to encourage him lest he think she was interested.
Apparently he felt her gaze on him for he turned then, and for a long moment, held the gaze. Chelsea did not know what to read into the look, but after a small smile had wavered across her lips, he started up again.
"We Englishmen are quite a gay lot when we gather together. The gentlemen puff on cigars and talk and talk. Occasionally we get up a game of cards, though I am not often amongst the players. The ladies prefer to gather 'round my new piano wanting to sing. And of course we dance. The ladies are constantly after us to dance with them." He laughed easily. "I can't think where they get the energy to do so, but I do believe if we'd oblige, the dancing would go on all night." Pausing, he looked at Chelsea again. "You would like that, would you not, Alayna?"
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