‘So when does the ram arrive?’ he asked his steward several hours later as he cast a studious gaze over the new flock.
‘The lads will bring him up the River Ouse from Bedford to just south of the village, then cart him the rest of the way,’ replied Bannister. ‘He should be here later in the week.’
David saw the sly grin on his steward’s face and chuckled. They were both excited at the prospect of breathing new life into the estate.
‘Very good, Bannister,’ he replied.
Once back inside the manor house, David pulled out his satchel of papers, ready to finish the last of his pile of correspondence.
He sat back in a chair and looked out into the garden. As was so often the case when he was alone, his mind drifted to Clarice. For more years than he could count, she had lingered in his thoughts.
It was a warm summer’s day, not unlike the day when he had fallen in love with her. That day he had been reading a book in the large rear garden at Strathmore House, pretending not to listen as Lucy and Clarice played at a game of ‘guess your future husband’s name’. Lucy, for her part, had settled on the safe option of Harold and was pressing Clarice to decide whom she would marry. When she refused to reveal the name, Lucy threw a small cushion at her. The ensuing squeals and giggles caught David’s attention and he looked up.
At that moment a ray of afternoon sunshine filtered through the ornamental English holly bush that stood nearby, and bathed the garden in a surreal golden light. The air surrounding Clarice was full of tiny specks of pollen and dust, made visible by the sun.
She lifted her head and, staring straight at him, softly said, ‘David’.
The roar of Lucy’s laughter broke the spell. ‘You’re going to marry David!’ she squealed with obvious delight.
Blushing, Clarice had turned away, but not before her gaze had irrevocably pierced David’s heart.
Yes.
A small voice in the recess of his mind had spoken, and from that day on he was smitten. He closed his eyes, recalling her laughter when they’d last danced together. Hope flared once again in his heart. More telling, however, was the look of despair on her face when Lord Langham took Clarice from the dance floor.
At that instant his desire for her had roared into flame. She hadn’t attempted to disguise her anguish at being parted from him. The pained look on her face, which he knew from bitter experience could only come from the deepest place in her heart, confirmed once and for all that she loved him. He knew it in the depths of his soul.
Picking up his quill, he dipped it in the inkwell. For the time being he would focus his energy on urgent estate matters, ensuring that every other aspect of his sphere of control was in order.
Considering he had broken the terms of their agreement, he found himself oddly pleased that Clarice for the moment was at a distance. At least she would now have the time she had asked for. When next they met he would press her for the answer he so desperately needed.
With Clarice at her father’s estate, she was away from London and, more importantly, away from Thaxter Fox. As long as she remained at Langham Hall, David could draw comfort in the knowledge that she was safe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As the late afternoon sun sank to the west, the Langham family coach passed between the ancient stone pillars that stood either side of the long drive leading to Langham Hall.
Climbing down from the carriage, Clarice felt the first chill of the North Sea wind on her face. She shivered. Coming home should be a happy occasion, but as she looked up and took in the view of the house she felt little joy. The towering grey stone walls, with their haphazard patchwork of soft green ivy, mirrored her own confused state.
In her childhood she had loved the Hall, as it was known to all in the local district, imagining how her ancestors had fought battles to defend their precious home. The many happy hours she’d spent roaming the estate with children of her father’s tenants, coming home at all hours grubby and hungry, were some of her fondest memories.
But when she turned twelve, her parents had appointed a new governess and all childish games were brought to an end. She was to be a lady, and only ladylike behaviour was now acceptable. Her former friends became strangers, made to bow and call her Lady Clarice.
The housekeeper greeted them, interrupting her reverie.
‘I am so sorry for the manner of your reception, my lady; we had no idea you were coming. If we had known, the household staff would have assembled to greet you. I shall send immediate word to the village and have the rest of the servants here as soon as possible,’ she said.
Lady Alice gave her a forgiving smile. ‘Our journey home was a spur-of-the-moment decision and we had no time to send word. Whatever accommodations you have for us tonight will suffice. It is too late to call the staff back from the village; they may return tomorrow.’
Clarice followed Lady Alice into the house and heard the housekeeper close the front door behind her. The only thing missing was the sound of a key being turned. The Hall was to be her prison until her father decided on her future.
‘Do you think you could keep a spot of supper down?’ her grandmother asked.
Clarice nodded. ‘But first I need to attend to my hair and face.’
Lady Alice gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I know the journey was difficult for you, my dear. I hope that within an hour or two your stomach will settle. Go and lie down and I will send word when supper is ready.’
After the long, draining journey, Clarice had little interest in doing much else. The lure of her soft, warm bed beckoned.
With Bella following hard on her heels, she made her way to her bedroom. As soon as she opened the door, she was sharply reminded of how many months it had been since she and her father had left for London.
Her bed and all the bedroom furniture were hidden under large Holland covers.
‘I suppose that is to be expected; we weren’t due to arrive back here for another month or so. I shall go downstairs and see what can be done to set your room to rights,’ Bella said and left the room.
Clarice walked to the window, slowly unbuttoning her coat. Her room overlooked the garden and the thick woods beyond the stone garden wall.
Her first smile in many days found its way to her lips. Without her father in residence, she would be free to roam the woods and sit at the water’s edge of the nearby lake. Deep and well stocked with wily tench, it presented the perfect place to hide away from her troubles.
Her mind was still in turmoil; and she knew that even once her bed was set to right, sleep would not come.
‘I shall find my brushes and paints,’ she said.
Silence hung in the room.
Lady Alice picked at a small bunch of grapes hanging over the side of the ornate gold fruit bowl, pulling one small grape free and rolling it slowly between her thumb and her forefinger.
‘It is going to be a long, tiresome evening if I am the only one making any attempt to converse,’ she said, arching an eyebrow.
‘Sorry,’ Clarice replied, as she continued to push her spoon around her bowl of soup. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the worried look on her grandmother’s face.
‘You should try and eat something, my dear.’
She nodded. Her travel-weary head and stomach had finally settled, but the food held little appeal. In the hours since their arrival, she had moped about the house, only agreeing to come to supper in order to remain in Lady Alice’s good graces.
Without her father at home, she was adrift. She was still angry with him, but she also missed him.
‘Much as I resent being packed off to the country in the middle of the season, I think we should take a happier view of the situation,’ Lady Alice continued.
‘What do you mean?’ Clarice replied.
‘I don’t think you are certain as to what you actually want. You have dallied with both Mr Fox and David Radley. Neither gentleman, I expect, would be happy to know you had been trifling with them.�
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She examined the grape she’d spent the better part of a minute rolling in her hand, and put it down on the table. Sitting back in her chair, she fell silent.
Clarice put down her spoon and stared at her grandmother. Had she just been branded a flirt?
‘I did not think I had given Mr Fox any sort of encouragement for him to form a tendre for me,’ she replied.
‘That is not what I had gathered from the afternoon you spent with him at Lady Brearley’s garden party. In fact, several guests noted how well you and he seemed to suit one another. I expect there are those who would not be surprised to hear of a betrothal between you.’
Thaxter Fox? Thaxter Fox!
Clarice was adamant she felt nothing for Thaxter Fox. How could others have leapt to the preposterous conclusion that she would marry her father’s heir?
She had assumed her father’s only reason for sending her back to the country was to get her away from David. Had she underestimated her father?
Please Papa, not Thaxter Fox.
‘I think David is going to offer for me; he had intended to speak to Papa this week,’ Clarice replied bravely.
‘Fool,’ the dowager replied.
Clarice nodded her head. ‘Out of respect, I would not dare to say that of my father, but yes, I don’t believe he is fair in his conduct toward David.’
Lady Alice picked up her spoon. ‘I refer not to your father but to Mr Radley. Though I must agree that your father could do with a cuff behind his ear every so often. What I meant was the folly of David offering for you and expecting your father to accept him at the first.’
Clarice’s hopes fell. Lady Alice no longer supported her cause.
‘If I were him, I would have bundled you into a carriage and spirited you away to Scotland the second I thought you would accept me. His father does have a rather large castle in which he could hide you.’
‘What?’ Clarice stammered.
‘Well, of course. Fine young man though he may be, the circumstances of his birth make it difficult for him to utilise the prescribed ways of attaining such a prize as you. Stealth and a fast horse should be the means he uses to claim you. Once he has you alone in a carriage, that would be grounds enough for the rest of society to demand a wedding.’
Clarice sighed. She doubted David would find her grandmother’s solution to his liking. To elope was unthinkable.
‘He would never do such a thing. His honour means everything to him.’
‘Even at the cost of losing the woman he professes to love? If that is the case, you may have been spared marriage to a man who does not know the value of what he has.’
‘He is not like that; I know he truly loves me,’ Clarice replied.
Her brow furrowed at her own remark. Defending David had become something of a habit of late.
One thing she did know for certain: her grandmother was right. Spending time away from London and all its distractions would give her time to think.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the main course. A small platter of roasted root vegetables and a rather small chicken with apple and walnut stuffing were the evening’s meagre offering. The footman placed the platter in between the two women and then left.
Lady Alice chortled. ‘I shall give Cook a list of things to purchase in the village tomorrow morning so you can have some of your favourite things.’
‘Thank you. And the chicken is fine; I have always been partial to a simple meal. Much of the extravagant fare in London does not agree with my constitution,’ Clarice replied.
For the next hour they enjoyed a comfortable meal, exchanging small talk about the happenings in London. At the end they both rose and adjourned to a nearby sitting room.
Clarice took a seat in a comfortable chair by the fire, while her grandmother sat down in her own special chair opposite. Lady Alice picked up her embroidery. Clarice smiled. Her late mother had always had a gift for beautiful needlework, and had been even more skilled than the dowager countess. Sadly, she had not passed on her gift to Clarice.
Her grandmother raised her head and looked at Clarice’s empty hands.
‘Why don’t you go and find a suitable book in the library, my dear, and bring it back here? I know there is no point in asking you if you have any needlework to go on with.’
Clarice rubbed her hands together in front of the fire. ‘Yes, Grandmamma, you may rest assured in the certain knowledge that I shall never take to the needle with anything other than a healthy degree of reluctance. If ever I marry, my house shall be infamous for its lack of fancy table runners.’
Lady Alice snorted loudly.
‘Oh my dear girl, it does me a power of good to see your old spark coming back,’ she said. Her laughter settled to a soft chuckle and she took hold of Clarice’s hand and held it.
‘Something tells me that here at our family home, you will soon discover the answers that you seek.’
‘Thank you for being so patient and understanding with me; I know it isn’t easy. And yes, it is good to be home,’ Clarice replied.
Later, as she lay in her bed, she decided Lady Alice was right. She would accept this time away from David and her father as a blessing and put it to good use. With luck her heart would find the answer she sensed was just out of reach.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was barely light when Clarice made the pilgrimage to her mother’s grave.
The dell was over a small rise on the far side of Langham Hall. Within the sheltered dell was a stone chapel, used for generations by the family. Lady Elizabeth Langham had been laid to rest in the private graveyard next to the chapel.
Wrapping a warm scarf around her neck and pulling on her favourite pair of soft kid-leather gloves, Clarice closed the front door of Langham Hall behind her and slipped quietly away. After the turmoil of her row with her father and her sudden exile to Norfolk, she needed solace.
A well-trodden path ran through the trees and ended at the door of the chapel. Stepping off the path, she crossed to the most recent headstone and stopped.
Three years, yet at times it felt like fifty since her mother had left her life.
Suddenly and so tragically.
‘I’m sorry I have not been to visit since the funeral, Mama; I didn’t think it was right.’
She closed her eyes and fought back tears.
‘No, no that is not the truth. I haven’t been here because I was afraid. Afraid of what you would say. I still am.’
Dropping to her knees before the gravestone, she placed her hands together. The time had come to ask for forgiveness.
‘If I could do anything to change what happened that day, you know I would. If I could pay a thousand kings’ ransoms in order to bring you back, I would. I should never have shown you that letter; I should have burned it. I am sorry I failed you, Mama.’
When the first of the tears fell, she welcomed it. She brushed her thumb against her face and looked down at the drop glistening in her hand.
‘I miss you every day,’ she whispered as the second tear fell.
Later, when there were no more tears left to cry, she felt a sense of calm. She had taken the first tentative step in facing the black despair of her grief. Sitting back, she pulled her knees up to her chest. With arms wrapped around her knees, she sat staring at Elizabeth’s headstone.
Beloved wife and mother.
A smile came unbidden to her lips. The words were true. Lady Elizabeth Langham had been well loved, by both her husband and her daughter.
‘Papa is angry with me,’ she addressed the headstone. ‘He has banished me from London because I danced with David Radley.’
Countess Langham had always held a special place in her heart for David. More than once, Clarice had seen her mother single him out for special attention.
She chuckled softly.
‘You should see him now, so handsome and serious. And in love. With me, of all people; how unexpected is that? Or perhaps you always knew.’
She picked at a nearby blade of grass until it came free in her hand. Twirling the grass between her fingers, she opened her heart.
‘He wrote me a beautiful love letter. Perhaps when next I visit you may permit me to read it to you. It is truly . . .’
She placed a hand over her heart as she fought for composure. David’s words reflected so much of how she felt about the loss of her mother. Of the longing.
She swallowed deeply before attempting to continue.
‘Papa is against our union. He says it is because David is not right for me, but I know that is not true. I’ve thought long and hard about it over the past few days, and if David still wants to marry me, then I am his. I am stronger than Papa thinks. David has helped me to believe in myself once more. Mama, I love him.’
She put a hand to her chest, feeling the shape of the onyx orb hanging on the chain between her breasts. Unpacking her things the previous night, she had come across David’s gift at the bottom of her reticule. She had taken it out, looked at it for a moment and then slipped the gold chain over her head.
The moment the cold orb touched her skin, she knew her heart was sealed with love. She would wear the necklace always. A full and rich life as David’s wife now beckoned. Only her need to make peace with her mother could hold her back.
The madame had been right: love was for those brave enough to claim it.
A bird in a nearby ash tree whistled its morning tune. London, for all its people and historic buildings, lacked the subtle beauty of the Norfolk countryside. Clarice leaned back, arms outstretched on the grass behind her, and looked up.
On a low branch of the tree she saw the bird.
‘Hello,’ she said.
The bird hopped across its branch and on to the next one. It turned its head and looked at her.
Clarice stared back. She could not recall having seen a bird with such grey and black plumage before. Its rippling whistle was certainly not one she had ever heard. She laughed uncertainly at the realisation that while she was studying the bird, it was studying her back.
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